


5 times Peter and Tony can't sleep and 1 time they can

by _Lightning_ (Lightning070)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, A4 Speculation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Co-Parenting, Domestic Avengers, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Insomniac Peter Parker, Insomniac Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Speech Disorders, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Worried Tony Stark, worried may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning070/pseuds/_Lightning_
Summary: [Infinity War spoilers!]How many seventeen-year-olds come back from the dead? She shudders at the thought.Dead. Her boy has been dead. That fact keeps knocking at her door every now and then and it just might eventually succeed in tearing her sanity apart.“May?” Tony's concerned voice stops that freight train of considerations and reminds her that Peter is here.  Tony brought him back to her as he'd promised.And now Peter is in his room. Alive. Silent. And sleepless."(The Avengers managed to get the universe back to normality. Well, for the most part, because now Peter won't sleep nor speak. And that's driving May and Tony crazy.)





	1. Co-parenting at 2 am needs coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I try to write something directly in English: I'm not a native speaker, so if you notice any mistakes just point them out and I'll fix them asap ;)  
> You can find the story translated by me in Italian here-> https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3821669&i=1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the same story translated by me in Italian at this link-> https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3821669

The light in Peter's room is still on. 

The door is ajar, oddly so, but May is glad she's able to glimpse her nephew through the crack as she walks down the hall. He's laying down on his bed and only his messy hair stick out from his tight cocoon of blankets. He’s staring at the wall. She doesn't need to see his face to know his eyes are still wide open and unblinking.

She knows better than to let herself in, so she just walks past the door and steps into the living room, where Tony has already helped himself with a mug of coffee. She's about to question the good sense of caffeine at 2 am in the morning; but then again: if Peter isn't sleeping, why should they?

So, she picks a mug from the sink as well and joins him silently, sipping the lukewarm drink. The man glances at her, then at Peter's door, then sinks his stare into his coffee as if it's hiding something vital from him.

He looks dazed and out of place and keeps tugging at the brace holding his left arm, so often that she wouldn't be surprised if he'll have a sore neck the next morning. He has dark purple circles around his eyes and his face is still studded with bruises and scratches, some fading, some struggling to heal. May’s noticed the heavy limp on his left side, but when asked about it he'd just brushed it off with a chipper _"I'm right as rain, Auntie, don't worry”_.

He thankfully doesn't look half as beaten-up as he should, end of the world considered. Peter is all but unscathed as well, at least physically.

It's his mind they're both worried sick about.

 

Peter has yet to utter a single word since he came back into this world and it's the most terrifying thing she could ever fathom, along with losing him – and she's gone through that already. Shock, Tony had reckoned soon after entrusting him in her arms, and May is keen to agree with him. How many seventeen-year-olds come back from the dead? She shudders at the thought.

 _Dead_. Her boy has been dead. That fact keeps knocking at her door every now and then and it just might eventually succeed in tearing her sanity apart.

“May?” Tony's concerned voice stops that freight train of considerations and reminds her that Peter is _here_. Tony brought him back to her as he'd promised.

And now Peter is in his room. Alive. Silent. And sleepless.

She'd deemed it normal at first: who knows what he'd seen on the other side. So Peter's first night back on Earth consisted in cuddling with her on the couch, watching some silly cartoons he used to love as a child and eating junk food – _she_ ate, _he_ just nibbled on some chocolate – as she talked to him about everything and anything in the hope he would eventually fall asleep. But when she woke up the next morning, he was still staring into nothingness with glassy eyes, unmoving, just as silent.

It was then that she'd started to panic. He'd gone through literal hell, he'd endured more than anyone, let alone a kid, should have to in a whole lifetime. He _had_ to sleep, but wouldn't close his eyes, not even when she begged him to with tears brimming in her own. He looked so tired and so impossibly still like he was enclosed in some sort of glass case that prevented any sound both to leave and reach him.

 

She gave up that second day at 1 am and called Tony, pleading him to come over – he is a genius, he knows what went down on whichever God-forsaken planet they fought their final battle on, he can help, he _has_ to. It's taken him under twenty minutes to get to Queens from the Compound and he literally jumped out of his suit and through the open window into their living room, breathless, barefoot and still in his pajamas, clearly worried out of his mind.

May feels a bit guilty about having dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night. He's in dire need of sleep too, especially given his still healing wounds and after that stressful day, with the whole press and politics ordeal he's had to face as the Avengers' spokesman. She doubts he's gotten a chance to relax yet. And she can only imagine how much he wants to rest and take some time off with Pepper after almost losing her for good, but she knows he'd want to know about Peter. He'd blame her for not telling him and then he'd blame himself more for not being there in the first place.

 

So, they stand there in the kitchen, both in their pajamas, sipping coffee as if they could fall asleep anyway, racking their brains in search for a solution to make their boy get some most-deserved rest.

“You okay?” Tony's voice is softer than usual, maybe in the subconscious thought that he could wake Peter if he spoke louder. May wants to share the optimism, but she doesn't feel like she has the strength to clutch at any straw.

"How long has it been now?" she asks instead, equally quiet. She knows the answer, but that's not what she's really asking and she's sure Tony will see right through the question.

He just shrugs and takes another sip from his mug. "Thirty-six hours." He shrugs again. "I've done worse, personally. He's still in the comfort zone, trust me," he adds, putting her doubt at rest with an encouraging look, like that would explain all.

It doesn't, and May looks at him quizzically.

“I'm, uh, most often, insomniac,” he begins with like it's no big deal. “And I usually start going bonkers after, say, seventy-two hours? Maybe more,” He casually lifts an eyebrow. “And I don't have any weird super-serum in my veins or spidey-blood or whatever. That should help him keep a hold of himself, at least physically. Like I said: comfort zone,” he concludes apparently calm.

He actually sounds like he's trying to reassure himself as well, but she can see the logic behind these words. She nods slightly but purses her lips. Tony evades her gaze and puts the mug down on the counter. He then grips his shoulder with his sound hand and slightly bows his head, in an unusual, pensive stance he's assumed several times during the last couple of hours.

“He's stronger than we think, I get it," she says, heaving a sigh. "But it's not like I can just _stop_ worrying about-” she trails off, a hint of fear in her voice.

"What are you most worried about, precisely?” Tony asks. “The not-sleeping part or the not-talking one?" The question sounds off and clearly points their whole discussion towards the _real_ issue.

"You tell me," May gives him a questioning look, suspicion making its way in her eyes and features. What is he trying to imply?

Tony falters. It's not often that he struggles to get his words right, and it's definitely not a good sign.

“Which one should I worry about, according to you?” She presses him, trying not to sound rude, but stern nonetheless.

“Both, actually, and a lot,” he finally answers with a sigh, and May's heart sinks into her stomach.

“You just said that insomnia isn't–”

“I did, but that's not what I meant,” he cuts her off and reaches for his nape, absentmindedly running his fingers through his short hair. “I mean... lack of sleep? That's normal, I tell you. I couldn't sleep for months after Afghanistan and all that followed; Captain Frosty hasn't had a legit wink of sleep since he's been thawed, and ditto for our lovely deranged Tovarish... truth be told, our whole bunch of caped super-boys doesn't have the best sleep records,” he rambles, clearly unnerved and making her tense as well. “The point being: some things just... stick with you, they take a toll” he finally looks up from the counter's marble surface he's been intently staring at. “Mostly at night,” he pauses significantly.

“You didn't _really_ get to the point,” she observes, feeling a sudden lump in her throat.

"I've taken a look at him and something's off," Tony's eyes rush to Peter's door once again. “Whatever he's doing, he's doing voluntarily,” he explains, gesturing with his sound hand, brows frowned.

“I thought that's what insomnia and mutism meant,” May shakes her head, baffled.

“That's when you _can't_ sleep or talk,” Tony points out, and she's never seen him so poised, but his posture is too rigid to be spontaneous. “He... he doesn't _want_ to sleep, or talk,” he mutters in open disbelief like he can't get his head around something eluding his wits. He almost seems scared. He's faced aliens, and mutants, and killing machines, and beings resolved to destroy their reality, yet he looks more scared than ever like he's about to break down any second now.

Maybe that's the point where she's supposed to break down as well. She falls silent. What the hell's going on with her boy? And why can't she or he do _something_ about it? She feels her fingers tremble as they clutch onto her forearms, digging in her own skin. She's never felt so powerless.

Tony shuffles his bare feet on the kitchen pastel tiles like he's holding off the urge to start pacing up and down in their tiny apartment. “I know what I said sounds crazy, but I swear there's a difference,” he finally utters, almost defensively. He makes to add something, but May holds up a hand and he instantly lets it drop.

“Did you experience this as well? The whole ‘not wanting’ thing, I mean,” she asks point-blank, and he promptly averts his eyes.

“Once,” he answers evasively. He pauses, and his frown gets deeper like he's suddenly thought of something. “It involved one of the Infinity Stones as well. Maybe it's some sort of side-effect...” He mumbles to himself and tugs at his goatee pensively.

“And were you able to solve the problem?” May looks at him expectantly. He quirks his lips like he's pondering his answers and, she reckons, whether to lie or not.

"Coping's not my strong suit," is all that he offers in the end, with an unconvincing, almost apologizing smirk.

"Meaning?"

"I screwed up big time," he blurts out, then pauses when May all but flinches. He gives her an apologetic look and she knows he isn't trying to imply anything about Peter. She's learned a bit about Tony by now and she's aware most of what he says doesn't exactly come off the way he means to. Most times, it just comes off completely wrong.

He rubs a hand on his face, as to erase those last words. "Like I said, coping's not in my DNA. So, I sought for... well, actually, _people_ who cared about me sought for backup, 'cause I wouldn't," he says, treading carefully, and May thinks she knows where this whole discussion is leading.

“You're suggesting to reach out to a therapist?”

Tony curls his lips and just nods slightly. He seems deeply embarrassed about that confession, more than he ought to be. “It's our best chance if things don't get better soon, and by soon I mean a couple days, three tops,” he concludes, edgily swaying on his feet. “Even though I would still give it a try with... you know, us and- I mean _you_ , and me if you want me to, y'know...” he gestures frantically between himself and her and then Peter's door and arches his eyebrows questioningly, like he's realized just then that he should ask for permission to visit or be involved at all.

May just thinly smiles at that reaction. “I'm glad you're here to help,” she simply replies, and Tony relaxes just a bit and gives a feeble, grateful smile in return. “And I do think we should try to get to him ourselves before talking to a professional,” she agrees then, thinking that it's good to have a plan _and_ a backup plan as well.

Tony straightens up from his leaning position, now steadier and with a more confident look in his eyes. “Okay then, we got this. First, we get him to talk, then we get him to sleep. And if we can’t do both, we bring him to someone who can,” he states, cutting through the air with his palm in a decisive move. He seems reanimated as well. She reckons he's also the kind of person who's at a loss without a plan, however weak and vague.

“Seems fair,” May takes her glasses off and rubs her thumbs into her eyes, letting out a deep, trembling sigh. Peter is here, Tony is by her side and they have a plan. It's getting better and will get better yet.

“Uh, by the way... Only Pepper and Rhodey know about the whole shrink thing, and I'd like to keep it that way, if you don't mind," Tony says, now fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

"Gossiping about your mental health isn't my priority right now. And never will be," she assures him, with an earnest look.

"Thank you for that," he jokingly raises his mug in a cheer, but his smile is sincere. “So, what now?” He asks right after that, and May notices how his eyes quickly move to Peter's door and then to the window in an almost guilty way.

"We let him be. Maybe he just needs some time for himself," May answers. Then she arches an eyebrow, puts her glasses back on and plants her fists on her hips, staring at him intently. “And _now_ , it's time you go back to your sweetheart, young man”.

Tony chuckles lightly and shakes his head, like admitting his being at fault. “Good advice. Too bad I never listen,” he says, sporting that rascal smirk of his, but his eyes stay dull. His whole situation with Pepper must be harder than she'd thought. All the more reason to make him go back to her.

"She needs you too, you know?" She reaches for his arm in a kind gesture, and he just nods, accepting it and her words.

"I know. But she's stronger than you'd think and surely stronger than me," he says, a hint of pride in his eyes.

A sudden thought comes to her mind and she narrows her eyes. “You did tell her you're here, right?” She wouldn't be surprised if he'd just rushed away in his suit without any further explanation, leaving her to wonder what dangers he'd have to face and if he'd come back to her this time.

Tony all but snorts in annoyance, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, Aunt Hottie, she's aware and she's hopefully not gonna set up a rescue team. Yet. I just have to keep her posted. Y'know, let her know no alien's snatched me away this time–"

"You _do_ let her know. In person," she cuts him off, as intimidating as she can manage at that outrageous time in the morning. Which is probably enough, given Tony's not-so-fake look of dread.

"Yes, ma'am," he mockingly reaches for his forehead with two fingers, standing to attention.

“Chop-chop, now. I can handle it from here,” she states firmly, steering him outside the kitchen with a hand on his back.

Tony docilely complies and then lazily makes his way to the window, still visibly limping and wincing from the sharp pain he must be enduring. His suit promptly sweeps down from the roof and lands on the fire escape just outside. He stops with his hand on the sill and glances at her, wavering. “Just call me if you need anything and keep me posted, alright?” He then turns to her with eyes half-pleading, half-frowning “And try to get some sleep, please. He needs you top-shape,” he says, pointing at Peter's door as he removes the brace from his left arm to get into his suit.

“I'll try, and you do too. Thank you,” she adds, wholeheartedly. He just winks in response.

“G'night then,” he wishes, stepping outside and into his armor. “Well, what's left of it,” he sighs, voice already distorted by the helmet, and even with his face shielded by his iron mask, May can visualize the faint grin behind it. He waves a hand and takes off with a roar, soon disappearing from sight and into New York's pitch black sky.

May turns her back to the window, facing Peter's door in the hall. She heaves a sigh.

She knows none of them three is going to sleep that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a sort of introduction to the whole situation, then I'll alternatively focus on Peter and Tony and how they're dealing with their lack of sleep. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the read! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think of it! Feedback (of any kind) is the writer's fuel ;)<3
> 
> (Hopefully, updates every other day).
> 
> NB As far as this story concerns, Tony is unaware that Wanda messed with his mind back in Sokovia and he still thinks that it was the scepter aka the Stone showing him the future.


	2. Ain't no hero without a story to tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian version (translated by me) here-> https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3823039&i=1

When Tony sees the kid standing before him, his brain just stops working as it gets flooded with sheer relief. Relief, and a sharp pain shooting through his spine, blurring his vision; his left arm hurts and throbs and burns, it burns and feels like it could set his whole body on fire. He thinks he could die right here and now and he wouldn't mind at all, and at the same time he thinks he doesn't want to die just yet. It would be most unfair to leave this life at this very moment. Because the kid is back, and he wants to tear just a little time away from death's grip to relish it.  
  
The kid is here. Peter is here. Shaken, in visible shock and wide-eyed, but he's here. Some naïve part of him expects him to get excited like crazy, shout one happy "Mr. Stark!", then – just maybe - give him a quick hug and start rambling about everything and anything. Instead, he just stands there, arms wrapped around his body like he fears he could fall apart again if he dares to take a step. He stares at him in disbelief, silently, but to Tony's ears, it sounds like he's begging for help.

Tony can't move. He wants so bad to stand up and go to him, but his knees just push uselessly on Titan's blood-red sand and the pain stabs at his wound, making him light-headed. He manages to weakly reach out with his right arm in Peter's direction, almost in a pleading, and the kid stumbles forward like he's just been waiting for that sign. He collapses beside him and throws himself in his arms. It hurts so much and feels so good at once and his body can't decide which feeling should prevail, so it just leaves him blissfully numb.

Peter clings onto his armor with all his might just as he'd done not that long ago, and Tony has to fend off the nightmarish feeling of ashes crumbling under his fingertips. But the hug stays firm and the kid is still here, he's real.

And he is crying so quietly Tony only notices when he slips one hand behind the back of his head to hold him close, unintendedly brushing against his wet cheek. It feels like the world itself starts to crumble. Peter is laughs and silly remarks and pure joy and cheerful excitement. His crying is haunting, it sounds wrong on every level and pangs in his chest with every muffled sob. It's something that shouldn't be allowed by some universal law and he just wants it to _stop_.

But the kid needs that. He needs to cry, to flush out all the memories before they nest into his heart and blacken it. He needs the cleansing, he needs to be held and demand his right to be just a kid instead of a superhero.

 

"You're alright, kid. I got you, you're alright," he keeps muttering in a soothing tone, and Peter's sobs start to get quieter until it's just tears and wet breaths. "It's okay now, we're going home. We're going home," then his voice breaks at the thought of Pepper waiting for him, and he peacefully closes his eyes.

 

He feels the tears that have been stinging at them for days finally slip past his eyelids and he just lets them flow. He doesn't even know what they are for: if pain, or relief, or joy, or exhaustion. But the kid is back, Pepper is back, _everyone_ is back. Thanos is dead and they've won, it's over. He's done _right_ for once in his life. He's allowed to cry, just for today. He's allowed to stop being Iron Man for that single minute, to take off his ironclad mask and just be Tony.

So he does, and he just stands there on his knees in the middle of the battlefield, cradling that weeping child who's come back from the dead.

 

* * *

 

Peter's room is definitely overcrowded, compared to the last time he's stepped in here. Heaps of technological mayhem are scattered around, among spaceships models, scientific textbooks and all sorts of nerdy knick-knacks. A working cutting edge computer sits on his desk, between a disassembled one and an antiquated Commodore. On the wall is pasted an old and discolored Stark Expo poster, and Tony can't help a thin smile at the thought of their first, unknowing encounter.

It immediately fades as his eyes lay on the kid, laying on his side with the blankets pulled up to his ears like he's cowering from the whole world. He doesn't acknowledge his presence in the room and his only movement is his shallow breathing. Tony knows he's been aware of him since the moment he's walked through the Parkers' front door; he has no doubt his spider-sense is still working.

It oddly makes it more painful to know Peter's deliberately ignoring him – he's just not used to be ignored and, most importantly, it makes him feel sick that he can relate to what the kid's doing. And at the same time he can't, because he's never been dead after all. But the need to shut away from everything and everyone, that he _can_ understand. He also knows that's exactly what he _shouldn't_ be doing.

 

He carefully steps around the bed until he can see Peter's face. He's awake, of course, and his dark, once lively eyes stare off blankly into the distance. He approaches him as he would with a scared and wounded animal. Ultimately, that's what he is: scared, and wounded. He can't tell why, though, at least not with absolute certainty. He wishes he'd invented some device to read people's mind. Just one quick look into Peter's, and he'd know what to do. But it's never so simple, he's learned that much by now.

He slowly sits on the bed, still not daring to talk, and he grimaces when he feels the stitches on his side pull. He stares down at his hands, his left one still bandaged and sticking out of his brace.

He hopes for any reaction from Peter, but it's like both of them are in the same room, only on separated astral planes. He has no idea if that even makes sense, but he doesn't discard that idea completely and makes a mental note to ask the Portal Doctor about it. Just in case. He knows he's clutching at straws, but it's been forty-eight hours now. And that's just since he's returned among the living. Peter's slowly nearing his limit. On top of that, he still isn't talking.

 

May has tried in every way she could think of, as far as to pinch him, but not a sound has left the kid's mouth. She's at a loss, tired and exasperated. Tony's glad she's accepted his offer to watch over Peter in her place for tonight. He feels guilty about leaving Pepper to sleep alone at the Compound, but she's insisted herself he should go and not worry about her. He knows she's safe and protected by Earth's Mightiest Heroes, should anything happen. But still, she's been through Peter's same terrifying experience and he has to make sure she's dealing with it in the right way.

He heaves a sigh. They're meant to be cheering and celebrate the victory. He should be introducing Peter to the team, he should be mending old wounds with Rogers and Barnes, he should be discussing venues and receptions with Pepper, he should be hosting a huge party to brush away all the horrible memories...

Why can't things just work out fine, for once?

Instead, he has to work them out himself, as always. He looks at Peter and his expression shifts to a more serious, almost severe one like he's behind his iron mask while on a mission. He is. He can't allow Peter to go through another sleepless night. He has to stop the demons he's not yet able to fend off on his own.

And, for God's sake, he won't let his last words be the heart-wrenching _I'm sorry_ that's been haunting his own dreams ever since.

 

“Hey, kid,” he calls out softly, and as expected, no reaction comes from him. It doesn't matter, though, so he just keeps talking “You mind if I sit here? Well, actually, I already am, but it felt polite to ask, it being your room and all,” he sniffs lightly, keeping an upbeat tone as he shuffles on the bed's edge. No reactions.

 

“May's clocked out for tonight, in case you're wondering,” he observes him in search of any sign he's actually listening. He finds none. “So I stepped in. You're basically stuck for six hours straight with a wordy egocentric asshole who's gonna ramble about himself, so your best choice would be to just nod off and call it a day,” he casually says. It's worth a try, right? “Alternatively, you can just tell me to shut my trap. Not sure that'll work, though, I usually just talk more,” he gives him a hint of a grin and struggles to keep it steady. He fails.

 

He feels defeated and he's not even started. And maybe this isn't a mission, but a test, specifically for him. A test to verify if he's capable of taking care of the people he loves even when he's out of his armor. It's a test he can't fail. It's not something he can pass with his brains or wits or strength. It's a matter of heart and humanity. Failing would mean he's lost both somewhere along the way. And he needs them both to take care of everyone he cares about.

If he fails, he's in a dead end, or better, a full circle where he ends up being alone and self-loathing again.

 

He _can't_ fail.

 

Tony ever so gently rests his sound hand on Peter's shoulder, leaning just a bit closer. “Kid?” He tries once more, even though May's been trying for two days to no avail. He feels something inside him giving way, because he doesn't want to fail and won't survive to losing the kid again. He inhales and his breath stutters along with his heart.

 

“Pete, I– listen, it doesn't matter if you don't wanna talk, okay? You should just sleep for a bit if you can manage. There's _nothing_ that can hurt you anymore. I'll be your personal tin soldier and keep guard right here,” he says, not even trying to hold back the urge in his tone. “And what I said before, remember? About not shutting up for hours? Well, I wasn't kidding, so as long as you're willing to listen I'll keep talking,” he adds, making up things as he goes on. “I might not always go by the book, so you better prick those ears up if you don't wanna miss some snippet to ruin my not-so-spotless reputation,” he lightly squeezes his shoulder and offers him a weak smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I'm not kidding, I tell you. It will be the longest bedtime story you'll ever hear.”

 

 _Bedtime story_. There, he said it. It feels like a taboo word to his own ears. Bedtime stories are something parents tell their children - and something he's never had the luxury to listen to.

He's never thought of himself as a father. Just for a brief moment, before events greater than him decided to wipe away that ridiculous desire that had crossed his mind, he'd considered the idea. At that time, he'd pictured it being somewhat alike the bond he has with Peter, hopefully without the whole “Mr. Stark” and “Sir” thing going on - which at that point is really more of an inside joke than a formality.

He can't pinpoint when, exactly, he's resolved to be better than his own father at taking care of that kid. He doesn't even know when Peter transitioned from being just _a_ kid to being _the_ kid. He'd just found himself genuinely committing to that purpose, just as he'd committed to being a better man when escaping that Afghan cave, and as he'd committed to protecting all his loved ones when he'd chosen to stay at Pepper's side.

 

So, bedtime story it shall be.

“Y'know, I'm a disaster with people.” Way to start a story, but it's not going to be a sugar-coated fairytale, so it better not start like one. “A _real_ disaster. Always messing things up in the dumbest ways...” He picks at his brace, shrugging. “I took after my father, he... he was just not a people's person. He was also not much of a father, even though he did have his moments, mostly too late to really make up for anything. Still better than nothing,” he pauses, pursing his lips. He looks at the Stark Expo poster on the wall, then averts his gaze. “What I'm saying here, if I'm saying anything at all is... I'm trying to do better than him. I like to think I am, but you know I've got a very biased opinion of myself. The point is, I've not always tried to be better,” he glances back at the kid, who's still as motionless and just as silent as before.

But the story's started anyway, so he has to follow through.

He tells him about _before_. Before they met, before New York and the Expo, before Iron Man still, before that missile with his name on it.

He goes through it all: fun and sadness and thrill and guilt and failures – there's so many of them even before he decided to take their full weight on his shoulders. He tells him that story he's never told anyone else, without skirting any detail. He's been meaning to tell him for a long time anyway; he'd just wished it were under happier circumstances.

He wants him to understand whom he's really looking up to. Peter needs to know that neither Tony Stark nor Iron Man is perfect, that his body and armor still bear the marks of all those mistakes. Most of all, he needs to hear that's there's always a way out, for how painful and demanding it may seem. He needs to hear about fear and how it can always be fought, and about loneliness and how you're never really on your own, and about despair and how it won't ever be stronger than hope.

 

The first time he comes to a stop – that's Yinsen's death, it still takes a toll on him after all these years - Peter's eyes flicker to him ever so quickly he might just have imagined it. It's as if he's inviting him to go on.

He's listening. And Tony goes on.

 

Two hours later, Tony's basically gone into auto-pilot and lets his mouth put into words thoughts he's never dared to look at more than twice. And in doing so, he still points at the glimmer of light through the darkness, he still dissipates the black clouds when they seem impassable.

Somewhere between the Accords and Siberia, Peter skittishly reaches out to his hand, then flimsily grips onto it. Tony holds it tight in return, trying to keep talking and fight back the emotion clogging his throat. He wants to jump on his feet and call May, or just lean out the window and shout out to the world. Instead, he goes on telling his story, which at that point sort of has become their story.

Peter doesn't move anymore, nor does he close his eyes. He just maintains that feeble contact as if it's the only anchor he has into this world.

 

Dawn finds Tony eventually trailing off with a hoarse voice as he reaches the end, and Peter still quietly listening, both of them tired and wide awake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a long chapter here. I didn't dwell on the final battle's details, they're not the story's main focus anyway. I just imagine it taking place on Titan as Tony uses the Infinity Gauntlet (or some other vessel of sorts for the Stones).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and that you'll let me know what you think of it :) As always, remember I'm not a native speaker, so corrections about grammar/style and mistakes are more than welcome. And feedback (of any kind) is the writer's fuel ;) <3


	3. And the wheels keep spinning 'round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the story in Italian translated by me here -> https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3824360

It feels just like after New York: the world is safe, the Avengers have won and Tony is sleepless.

With every victory, the shards of what's been broken always land on Tony's shoulders and he won't nor can shrug them off. He lets them painfully sink into his flesh until they can't be removed and start to fester inside him.

Pepper has begun to think there won't be a time when he's at peace, especially with himself. She looks at him, leaning on the crumpled pillow as he lazily scrolls his phone, his now brace-free wounded arm laying on his stomach. He looks relaxed, but she knows him too well to buy that impression. They've been laying in bed for about an hour and he's managed to keep quiet for the most part of it. Something is definitely off, but she knows that pressing him will only result in him shying away even more.

So she just moves in closer and wraps an arm around his waist, careful not to touch his wound, now uncovered but still a vivid red. He lowers a hand on her naked shoulders, tracing soft lines against her skin with his fingers. He glances at her, then puts away his phone on the nightstand. He stares at the ceiling for several seconds.

 

“You remember our little talk in the park before Doctor Whatever jumped out of nowhere?” he asks all of a sudden, eyes still fixed above him.

Pepper just blinks, taken aback.

Kids. That's not the kind of topic she'd expect coming from him, not now, not ever, and that's the second time it comes up in a matter of weeks. It had caught her off-guard that first time too, and she knows her reaction had been way too cold. She's never had a chance to make up for it or to process what Tony's words really meant because, just after that, some volatile alien decided to wreak havoc upon their world once again.

“That talk about naming our hypothetical offspring after my quirky uncle?” She jokes, even though she can sense the underlying seriousness in Tony's voice.

“Yeah, about that... let's  _hypothetically_  cross Morgan off the name list, agreed?”

“Agreed,” she smiles and holds back a little laugh. “So, what about that?” she asks then, softly if a bit nervously. Her fingers twist the hem of the blanket. It's not that she doesn't want kids. She's just never really given them that much thought. Parenthood always seemed somehow incompatible with the kind of life they lead and the topic had simply never been mentioned, as in a mutual understanding. Tony bringing up the subject had been a bolt from the blue. And something she'd never thought could lighten her up so much.

 

“Why don't we put that plan on standby for now?” Tony's words succeed in withering her expectations before they can even begin to bloom. She pulls back a bit, resting her head on the pillow to take a better look at him. He's frowning, with an arm bent behind his neck.

“And what made you change your mind?”

Tony makes a face and his feet shuffle under the blankets. “Isn't that obvious?” he mutters, before finally turning to her.

“With you, it  _never_  is,” she points out, half-joking, half-serious.

“Right,” he gives her a quick, dull smirk “I've just been thinking... too much, actually. I'm just  _not_  cut out to be a father, it's... it's genetics. And I can program Dum-E to change diapers and make din-dins and whatnot, but I can't entrust a robot with... the whole...  _emotional_  part,” he stutters and falls silent.

“Just because your father wasn't a  _good_  father, doesn't mean you'll follow his lead,” Pepper says point-blank, and he averts his eyes.

“I know I can be better than him,” he mumbles, not sounding all that convinced. “I just wonder if it'll be enough.”

“Tony, nobody's born a parent, it's just something you figure out when it happens. I wouldn't know where to start either,” she admits with a slight shrug.

“You really didn't learn  _anything_  after almost twenty years of picking after your favorite walking disaster? That's alarming, Miss Potts,” he chuckles as she gives him a playful pinch on the thigh.

“And you're always so busy worrying about everything and everyone that you'll be helicopter-parenting in no time,” she retorts, and he just rolls his eyes. “You'd be a good father, honey. I mean it.”

 

Tony scoffs. “Oh, c'mon, I can barely take care of myself.” He pauses. “What the hell, I can't even take care of Peter.”

There it is. The bombshell she's been waiting for three days now.

“You're doing everything you could possibly do, Tony,” she softly points out.

“That's  _exactly_  the point,” he retorts right away, almost angrily. “That's not even remotely  _enough_.”

 

Pepper reaches for his arm, feeling its tension as she encircles his wrist. Peter's situation has been gnawing at him ever since the kid came back, but he's tried to keep her at a distance and to play it cool as he always does when something's bothering him. And she's worried too, for the both of them: Peter and May feel like family by now and she wishes she could do more for them right now.

 

"Any news?" She just asks, knowing that any reassuring word is bound to get lost when Tony is in that self-deprecating mood.

“I was talking with May,” he gestures to his phone. “They tried with sleeping pills. They didn't take into account his hyper-metabolism. Basically, he just popped some candy. So, yeah, still awake,” he closes his eyes for a brief moment, like just thinking about it makes his head hurt.

“It's  _not_  your fault, Tony,” she says, before he can make up some stupid, nonsense thought about his role in all that happened.

“Isn't it though?” He spits out, his voice sour again. “I've dragged him into this and I can't even make it right.”

“It would've happened anyway, whether he was on Titan with you or alone in his room or at school or walking down Queens Boulevard. And at least he had you there with him,” she bluntly retorts, wishing she could take back that last statement when she notices the pained look Tony darts at her. She didn't mean to make him feel guilty about not being there with her, but the damage is done now.

 

Tony shakes his head and pinches his nose, not bothering for a comment, or maybe unable to form a coherent one. Then he picks up from where he stopped, with a tremble in his chipper, clearly forced voice.

 

“He's not sleeping, but he's eaten something at last. I...  _we_  were starting to worry about that too, but apparently Oreos did the trick and he gulped down a whole box, along with a can of that  _god-awful_  cherry soda he likes so much,” he smiles faintly as he rambles, but it's one of those smiles that leave his eyes a dull brown, clouding the speckles of hazel in them.

“That's good news, Tony. It means he's making progress, and I bet that's thanks to you too. You said he reacted to you last night, didn't he?” She observes, matter-of-factly and more leveled as she hugs her pillow.

“Maybe,” he acknowledges, before scoffing. “I don't know, I just talked nonsense to him and...”

“I highly doubt that was nonsense, and that's what you should do anyway.  _Talk_ ,” she states, firmer than ever.

“But he's not talking back!” He objects, lifting his hands like he doesn't know what he should do with them. “Maybe he just wishes me to get the hell away and  _hates_  me for what's happened. And maybe I  _should_  leave him be so he can just be done with this...”

“For God's sake, Tony,” she bursts out, raising on her elbows and forcing him to look her in the eye. “He  _admires_  you and  _looks up_  to you and  _loves_  you. He needs your attention and he needs to know you're there for him. Do you really think  _going away_  would make things any better?” She asks, with a hint of baffled sarcasm.

 

Tony swallows like he wants to push that obvious answer back in his throat, but he lets it out eventually: “No.” He stays silent for a while and Pepper allows him to give some order to his thoughts.

“I'm trying to relate to him, to what he went through,” he says quietly. “I thought I could, you know, considering.”

Pepper hears “New York” even though the word's not spoken out loud. “Can't you?” she cautiously asks.

 

He huffs so deep she thinks his lungs may be about to burst, and she knows he's about to give way to the flood that's been trying to overrun his defenses until now. It comes out in a river, and Pepper is only glad he's not trying to push that back anymore:

"What he experienced is on a whole other level. He's seventeen and he basically faced death itself. I just went down a giant alien drain," he shrugs and tucks his hands under his armpits. "And, I mean, I've not turned to ashes and then been held hostage into a freaky stone carried around by a giant raisin, that's... that's fucked up," he blurts out with visible anger. She's sure that, if given the chance to revive Thanos, he would do it just for the sake of killing him again, this time fulfilling the task with his own hands instead of leaving it to Rogers and Marvel.

Tony takes a shaky breath, then goes on:

“On top of that, he was there when... when Thanos stabbed me,” he looks at her nervously and she just lowers her gaze on the red, swollen mark on his side right below his rib cage. She's aware another one scars his lower back as well. “He saw  _that_. And soon after he... he was gone and I couldn't do  _anything_  to help him... I just stood there as he...” His voice catches in his throat and Pepper moves closer to him. “I was supposed to protect him. He asked for help, for  _my_  help and he thinks I'm this great, all-mighty hero... and he was just left to  _die_  as I watched,” he pants, in shortness of breath, like he's on the verge of a panic attack, but he steels himself and his voice. “He's already lost so much. There's only so much a kid can take,” he digs his fingers into his side and Pepper rests a hand on them, softening their grip on the sensible wound.

He struggles to regain control and shudders, overwhelmed by the memories he's just evoked, but he doesn't cave in to those emotions. He turns to her and there's a guilty look on his face now.

 

“I'm sorry, I keep forgetting... Or maybe I just  _want_  to forget that you were...  _gone_  as well,” he manages to say. “I didn't mean to...”

“It's okay, Tony,” she reassures him as she leans in to kiss him lightly on the lips. “I don't remember anything anyway,” she adds, as casually as she's able to.

“Are you sure? I don't wanna press you, but if there's anything, really  _anything_  that bothers you, you can tell me and I can try to...”

“I told you, it was like being...” she trails off, looking at her fingers, the first thing that had started to crumble under her frightened eyes. She balls her fists and steadies her breath. “I don't know, like going through some sort of general anesthesia, and then I woke up in my office whole and sound like nothing had happened. I was groggy and confused as hell, but that was it. No pain, just numbness. And then you were back, and that's all that matters,” she kisses him again, fondly. He returns the gesture, but his frown stays.

“You never mentioned the moment itself, when you... when...” he trails off, and she can tell he's figuring her body turning to ashes by the way he's gripping and touching her arm, as to assure it's solid and steady. “You remember  _that?_ ” his voice teeters.

 

She stays silent and curls up against him, resting her cheek on his collarbone and sensing the familiar scent of his skin. That and his arm tightening around her small frame make her feel brave enough to utter the following word: “Yes.”

Tony's hand finds hers and squeezes it. “And you dreamed about it.”

It isn't a question. Pepper suppresses the urge to roll her eyes like she always does when Tony proves to be more perceptive than she'd think.  _Of course_  he'd know, since he's been spending every other night thrashing in his sleep for six years. “A couple times.”

 

Tony's sigh ruffles her hair, but he doesn't say anything. He's not in the position to scold her for not telling him something, when he'd always been so concerned about hiding his every weakness, up until their brief fall out. Then he'd learned, slowly but steadily, to show her his fears as well as his smiles.

 

“I'm sorry I wasn't there,” he apologizes instead. “I shouldn't have left you alone at night.  _I_  should've known better, of all people,” he adds, rolling on his side and hugging her close to his chest. Pepper doesn't reply and just snuggles in closer into his embrace.

“I'm not angry or disappointed, Tony. I'm not blaming you. I just thought I could deal alone and, honestly, right now Peter's the one who needs your help the most. He's just a kid,” she says, and she means every word.

“I know. But I also need to know  _you're_  safe,” she feels his arms going stiff. “So I'm gonna set my priorities straight and be there for the both of you. And you tell me if something's wrong, no matter where I am or what I'm doing, and you let me know when I'm being the asshole that I usually am. Deal?” He finds her eyes and holds her gaze in his own. She doesn't answer right away: it doesn't sound like a compromise and he's probably going to wear himself out of pure worry. “Deal?” He insists, cupping her cheek with his wounded hand.

She kisses his palm and nods. “Deal,” she simply replies, and just that word makes the air around her less suffocating because she knows he won't let her spend another night alone. She feels a bit selfish, but she knows she needs this right now. And she really hopes Peter will feel better soon, so Tony won't have to be torn between looking after him or her. He has enough guilt on his shoulders already.  


“How's your arm?” She asks, tactfully changing the subject.

He just shrugs and shows her the limb in question, still streaked by faint red lines where the skin had ruptured. Some gauze covers a couple of major burns on his inner elbow and wrist, but it looks definitely better than three days ago.

“Not bad. It stings, but Dr. Cho did a fine puzzling work,” he smiles faintly. “My touch's still a bit off though. Guess something's been damaged, after all. Some nerves or whatever,” he tentatively brushes his fingertips against his own skin, tracing the outline of the scar on his side.

She pulls his hand away, lest he irritates the wound, and he doesn't object. “Can't you ask her to fix it?”

Tony smirks in disbelief. “I wielded the universe's most powerful trinkets and I'm still alive to brag about it. I feel I got my fair share of good luck, so let's not tempt fate  _too_  much, shall we?” He then brushes his knuckles against her cheek and his smile widens. “And it still works fine enough to me,” he remarks, playfully raising his eyebrow.

 

Pepper smiles in return. It's so rare to see Tony indulging in such open displays of affection and she relishes each one of them. She's missed him, even though she couldn't be aware of that, and it's clear he's missed her too, probably the most in eighteen years. She moves in closer and he holds her to his chest, chin resting on her head.

They stay like that for several minutes, just breathing each other in, easing their skin's warmth.

Tony breaks the silence with a deeper breath. “I was so afraid I wouldn't get you back,” he whispers then, barely audible, and Pepper can feel the faint shiver that runs through his body. She rubs his back, going in circles as she tries to loosen the tension between his shoulder blades.

“I'm here, Tony,” she just whispers back, before finding his lips with her own.

“I know,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers. “I'm here too, now.”

 

He needn't add anything else: she knows only too well the crippling pain of losing your loved one. It's stayed with her since New York, and in those moments it did feel like she wasn't even in this world anymore. That's not something anyone should ever feel.

Their breaths even out, but they just can't seem to get past the threshold of sleep. She feels Tony's hand still fiddling with her hair, making her drift in and out of a light slumber.

 

"It's almost 4 am... You should at least try to get some sleep,” she slurs, slightly more awake. “It won't any good if you..."

"I'm trying. You know I am," he mumbles tiredly, with his eyelids cracked open.

 

She knows. So she just holds his head in her arms and lightly cards his hair, as she lulls him to no avail. She can feel he's still awake and now she's not going to fall asleep any time soon either.

After a while, she starts drawing a light trail of kisses from his temple, across his cheek, following his jawline to his neck. He stirs and lets out a small sigh as he begins to lightly caress her hip and thigh. She twines her hands behind his neck and he gently sweeps one arm around her waist to draw her closer, finally meeting her lips.

Once again, neither of them sleep that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd promised updates every other day, but that clearly didn't go that well... uni had me in its firm grip and I struggled to find the time to write.
> 
> So, yeah, here you go with a rather sappy chapter with my favorite lovebirds <3 The next two will be entirely dedicated to May and Peter, so brace yourselves for the angst.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the reading and please leave a comment to let me know what you think of it. As always, feedback is the writer's fuel ;)


	4. You are responsible for your rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengthy chapter ahead, folks, but I promise it's worth it :)  
> I decided to change a few things midway, that's why it's taken me so long to update. I hope you enjoy the reading!
> 
> [The title is a quote from the book "The Little Prince".]
> 
> You can find the Italian version here, translated by me -> https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3825580

Ben would know what to do.

Of all the thoughts that have been spinning through May's head during this last week, that's the most persistent one, the one that's slowly wormed its way into her skull to settle in her brain's deepest recess.

Ben _would know_ what to do.

He had this built-in way of reaching out to Peter that made the boy open up like he never did with her. He would know what to say now, how to handle Peter's terrifying silence, the very same that had engulfed them both after his death.

May knows that the only reason she hadn't lost her boy back then is thanks to Spider-Man. It's still scary to think about Peter fighting crime on the streets in just a worn tracksuit and goggles for six months, but she knows that's what kept him going. It gave him a purpose. She lost her mind when she found out, and even more when she discovered Stark's complicity in the whole matter, but she soon realized he'd probably saved his life by giving him the upgraded suit. All in all, she was glad that he'd kept a watchful eye over him – even though she'd been _this_ close to incinerate him on the spot for having kept her in the dark.

Then, things began to spiral out of control.

There had been a lot of telling-off and endless discussions and banter and hollering and panicking: he was fifteen, he was just a kid, he had no idea what he was getting into, he could _get killed_ – and she didn't understand, she didn't have a clue about why he did what he did, he was stronger than she thought and he _knew_ what he was doing. It had been an inconclusive hellhole of fighting for days like there never had been before, ever.

Peter eventually stormed out and took off to roam the streets for three days straight to “cool it down”. May let him go out of exasperation, only to spend the better part of that time blaming herself for not stopping him, with the marked feeling her world had started to crumble apart again.

Even then, she'd had that passing thought that Ben would've known what to do to stop Peter from leaving.

Tony surely felt caught between two fires when he found Peter on his doorstep, while still on the phone trying to reassure both himself and that same kid's worried-sick aunt. But he juggled his way out of it by hosting Peter without the blink of an eye, all while keeping her updated. He somehow coaxed him into going back home that very same day, and she had the feeling he'd given Peter his fair share of lecturing too.

The boy seemed way more measured the moment he stepped into their apartment again, eyes staring at his shoes and his suit nonchalantly peeking out from under his hoodie. He hugged her tightly and apologized for everything, even things he shouldn't have apologized for. Then came the words, the explanations she hadn't cared to hear before, the whys and hows, the reasons why he'd chosen that path. And she felt she couldn't object to any of those.

The realization came like an avalanche: she couldn't do anything to stop him. That was _his_ choice, his _responsibility_ , as he'd called it, in a stern voice that reminded her of Ben's.

She feels the exact same way about him: he's _her_ responsibility, the reason she's kept going after losing her beloved husband. But she couldn't keep her nephew under a bell jar just because she was scared of losing him as well. So she'd let him do what he did, though with a mixture of pride, worry and guilt constantly stirring inside her.

When she realized that her boy was gone, _dead_ , a part of her screamed once again that Ben would've known better than sinking to the floor racked by her own sobs while begging Tony, God, fate, _anyone_ to bring her boy back to her.

And though her wish has eventually been granted, she doesn't know what to make of it.

Ben _would_.

Peter's not back. That's just his bodily form sunk in the bed, blankets pulled up to his nose as in the childish belief they could shield him from any monster in the closet. May leans on the door frame as she watches over him. It's 6 pm and she's already so tired she could fall asleep right where she's standing and not even notice. But she's too nervous and frustrated to truly relax.

She'd been on the phone with Tony for the past hour, trying to convince him that it's _fine_ if he spends the night in Malibu instead of flying back to New York stat. He needs to unwind as much as anyone, and it's not like Peter's situation is going to turn around overnight, so he might as well enjoy without qualms his one-day getaway with Pepper. She doubts she's managed to fully subdue his guilt, given how stressed he sounded to her ears and how he pressed her to call him should _anything_ happen, but that's the best she could do for him.

After that, they'd kept talking about everything and anything, fully aware that each topic still revolved around that same, silent kid, and she can't really track what exactly lead to an argument. Maybe his insistence on having Peter seeing “an expert”, maybe her comment about how what had worked for him might not work for Peter too, maybe his bruised observation about how, as opposed to her, he had at least a clue about what the kid might need, maybe her blunt retort about him not being the best person to judge or have a say in the matter. She just knows she suddenly snapped at him and he then clipped the call with a flippant, low-key sour remark.

She'd regretted her reaction the moment the call ended, but the whole situation has them both on edge and she'd been expecting for it to flare up, sooner or later, and Tony's attitude surely doesn't help.

She's actually given more than one thought to Tony's suggestion, but if Peter refuses to move, there's no way she can force him to see a therapist. She'd been able to drag a stubborn and uncooperative six-year-old Peter to the dentist, but her feeble arms are not enough against his now superhuman strength. She's barely managed to put him to bed and she knows it's just because he let her. Had he resisted, she wouldn't even have shifted him of an inch.

She wants to believe he's getting better: he's eating again, he reacts to noises now and then, he seems to be more aware of his surroundings. He's as much as stood up a couple of times, taking some hesitant, wobbling steps with his arms tightly wrapped around his torso. His lips are still sealed, as opposed to his eyes. Dark circles have deepened around them, looking even darker against his pasty skin. Sometimes his eyelids flutter and tremble like they're struggling to hold an invisible weight, but they won't budge.

It's like watching a shadow of the former, boisterous and lively boy that had been lighting up her life since the day she'd first lay her eyes on him. She would give up her own voice just to hear him talk or laugh again. She feels it's useless to her anyway since everything she says crashes against Peter's invisible walls of silence.

 

*

 

The silence is broken one hour later by the ring of her phone. She flinches on her seat at Peter's feet; he doesn't as much as bat an eye. She looks at the display and her brows furrow in seeing it's Tony, again. She sighs and ponders to just leave it to ring, but it would be simply too cruel to the man's anxiety. And maybe he just wants to put the lid behind the whole shrink discussion. She stands up and halts on the doorway.

“Yes?” she answers, not straight-out curtly, but cold nonetheless. She's met by an odd lull that prompts her to speak again: “Tony? You hear me?”

“Don't freak out,” Tony's voice finally comes from the other end and the wrinkles on her forehead deepen in confusion.

She barely has the time to register those words, that she hears a sudden, sizzling noise coming from her right. She quickly turns her head and almost loses hold of her phone as she stares at the red-orange sparkling circle that's appeared mid-air in the living room. She suppresses a scream in her palm and feels her head lighten as she tries to make sense of what she's seeing.

Next thing she knows, a tall, bizarre man with a goatee strides into the living room. He's wearing a blue, oriental-looking robe topped by a massive red cloak fluttering around his frame; a heavy medallion hangs from his neck, just above the thick leather belt wrapping his waist.

“Mrs. Parker,” he starts off politely, with a subtle bow of his head. “I'm Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. Sorry for the intrusion,” he adds, as in an afterthought.

May rests her back against the wall as she tries to catch her breath. She knows the man, at least by name and sight, and she knows he's not hostile. He's with the Avengers and he's played a major role in saving the world, from what she's picked up from the news.

She still struggles to regain composure. “Nice to... meet you, Mr. Strange,” she finally elaborates, with a sigh of relief. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she adds right after that, but before he can answer someone interrupts him.

“That's the _expert!_ ” a known voice states, oddly far-away, and the Doctor slightly rolls his eyes in response.

It takes May a few moments to realize the bright spinning circle is still there and that's where the voice is coming from. She leans sideways to look beyond the sorcerer and he steps away to clear her line of sight.

On the other side of the dazzling portal, she can glimpse a large, bright living room overlooking the ocean. Tony is standing right at the circle's rim, but he's looking somewhere to his left as he talks, his words not audible to them; he seems in the middle of a heated discussion, by the way his hands are quickly moving here and there.

“Stark,” the Doctor all but barks at him, “care to cut it short?”

Tony turns his head and raises an eyebrow in open annoyance. “You know you're not earning any points to get that wedding invitation, right?” he mocks him with a huff, before casually hopping through the portal.

Just then, Pepper peeks out from it as she scowls at her oblivious fiancé with her arms crossed, then gives May an apologetic look. “I'm sorry on his behalf. I couldn't talk any sense into him,” she says. Her words are muffled, but they're perfectly understandable and bear a distinct trace of reproach aimed at the man in question.

“It's okay, I know he means well,” May reassures her, and gives Tony a pointed but affectionate look as he's already busy bantering with the Doctor.

“How are you holding up?” the red-haired woman asks, concern evident on her face.

May produces a thin smile. “Could be worse. And at least he's here,” she adds, looking sideways to Peter's door, and Pepper just nods in understanding. “Thank you for all the support,” she adds, unable to express just how grateful she is to _both_ her and Tony. May knows Pepper's as much in need as Peter is, and acknowledges the effort she's making in letting Tony away from her so often.

“We _all_ wish for Peter to get better,” she gently replies, with an encouraging smile.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I can't keep this running forever,” Strange cuts in, making it clear that he has no time to lose. Pepper and May exchange a quick wave at each other, and Tony manages to slip in a hurried “I'll be back for dinner!” before the portal shrinks to the size of a tennis ball and disappears with one last sizzling flicker.

The Doctor makes one last swift move with his gloved hands, then rests them on his lap as he discreetly looks around, waiting. His sharp features are almost bored, but his light-blue eyes are bright and piercing. Tony is unusually quiet and keeps eyeing Peter's door, worried lines stretching on his face.

“I suppose you're here for my nephew,” May finally says, addressing her unexpected guest.

“Correct. Stark thinks I can be of help and, given the situation, I'm oddly inclined to agree with him,” he states confidently. Tony lets out a silent huff, but doesn't comment; instead, he steps closer to May and just stands there by her side, listening with his arms folded on his chest.

“How so?” May inquires, not caring to hide her wariness. She's felt a spark of hope in her chest at those words, but she won't let it become a fire before she's sure that's not a delusion. That would only leave her crushed.

“I'm familiar with the Stones and their power. I might be able to identify the source of the problem and maybe even solve it.” Strange doesn't pay much heed to her attitude and stays unfazed. “It also seems Peter's not the only one suffering side-effects from having been constrained in the Soul Realm. There have been several reports about people experiencing a multitude of psychological symptoms, ranging from hallucinations to severe panic attacks and night terrors,” he goes on, quietly but outspoken.

May doesn't let her worry seep out, but her jaw clenches, as fear settles its icy weight in her stomach; Tony uncomfortably shifts his weight on the spot and seems about to chime in, but he holds back as the Doctor talks again:

“The kid's reaction seems to be rather mild, from what I've been told, so I don't have any reason to think it'll worsen, but his lack of sleep will eventually take a toll on him, despite his unordinary endurance,” he adds significantly, and May decides she's heard enough to give this “strange Doctor” a chance.

“I'll show you to him,” she says, making way to Peter's room. Strange promptly comes to her heels as Tony idly follows.

She can't deny she's nervous about Strange seeing Peter: some part of her fears, or maybe hopes, that it will spark an unexpected reaction. She opens the door and steps aside to let the Doctor in; she ponders if she should announce his presence to her nephew, but it only hurts to know he won't notice anyway.

Strange enters the room and scans his surroundings with an attentive look, before concentrating on Peter, barely visible under his heap of blankets and with his back to the door. He could be sleeping if they didn't know better. The Doctor gives May a questioning look, clearly asking for permission, and she just nods back; Tony halts beside her with his hands in his pockets.

“Do what you need to do,” she simply says, fiddling with her own fingers. Strange approaches Peter and observes him from a distance, brows knitted in an almost intrigued way. He bends beside him and stares at his face, not making the slightest move to touch him. He briefly closes his eyes, as if in the intent of sensing something, then snaps them open and turns to them.

“Can you make him sit up? I don't want to alarm him by doing it myself,” he says standing upright, hands clasped behind his back.

“Sure. Although I doubt he would notice,” May shrugs as she makes her way to the bed.

“He's more aware than you'd think,” the Doctor replies, still straight-faced; May doesn't answer and struggles to make Peter move in a sitting position, despite her best efforts and soothing words; he's having one of his moments and doesn't seem to have the slightest intention on being compliant. She sighs in resignation and Tony swiftly steps in to help her, ignoring her objections.

“C'mon, buddy, don't make me call the suit,” he grunts, as he wins his resistance and lifts him bodily with his arms hooked up under his armpits; he makes a face for the strain on his still-healing wounds, but eventually succeeds in making him sit on the bed's edge. Peter's head is bowed, but he holds the position. Tony quickly pulls back, rubbing his left shoulder with the glimpse of a distressed grimace on his face. “There you go,” he pants then, making a gesture to Strange, who's tactfully kept a distance.

“Thanks,” he says, proceeding to step in front of Peter again.

May instinctively monitors his every move. As he examines Peter, he makes a clear effort in touching him no more than strictly necessary. He removes his gloves: his hands are shaky and awkwardly stiff; they also bear deep, jagged scars along their full length, as if they've been crudely cut open then stitched up again.

The first part of his inspection comes along rather normally, with Strange checking out Peter's apparently unseeing eyes and placing two fingers on his wrist and neck to register his pulse. Then he sits on the floor with his legs crossed and flicks his hands mid-air in a complex gesture. Red-orange wires spring from his fingertips; May flinches, but she fights the urge to intervene until the wires slither up to coil around Peter's wrists.

Tony gently places a hand on her arm and she stops in her footsteps. “They don't hurt,” he explains softly, nodding at the thin fire whips. "They're just for show," he jokes light-heartedly.

She trusts his words, but nears the two of them nonetheless, just in case.

“So, any epiphany yet?” Tony impatiently presses him after a while, restless on his footing.

“I sense something, but I can't quite tell _what_ for sure...” Strange murmurs back, twirling the red-orange wire around his fingers as if he were maneuvering a puppet.

“Oh, thank God we got the 'ultimate doctor' here,” Tony blurts out accusingly.

“And thank God you're not a prick, or I'd be having a hard time not sending you off to some cold, forsaken planet,” Strange not as much as turns to the engineer, but Tony clamps his mouth shut all the same, not before grumbling a distinct “asshole” under his breath.

May ignores their bickering and darts her eyes to the fire ropes encircling Peter's wrists, but he doesn't look fazed in the least as the Doctor keeps gesturing with his fingers, wrinkles on his forehead giving away the strain he's under. After some more minutes of fiddling about, his eyelids fall shut and he suddenly goes limp, chin resting on his chest as his dark locks fall to cover his eyes. May goggles and even Tony winces at the sight.

“Uh, don't worry,” he mutters then, as his eyes quickly hover around the room. “He's still here... I think. Probably sneering and pulling faces at us,” he shrugs and folds his arms rather nervously.

Right then, the Doctor jolts awake, startling them again. He dissolves the magical wires and swiftly stands up with a huff. “I've gathered some useful data, I reckon,” he announces with the hint of a satisfied smirk.

“Hit us up, then,” Tony urges, sitting at the bed's end with a hand resting on his aching side.

Just then, Peter vacantly shifts on the spot and lays back with a stiff and mechanical movement, pulling the covers back up his nose. All three glue their eyes on him, taken aback by that sudden display of liveliness. They wait for more, but the kid just exhales a deeper breath and sinks his head in the pillow. May's heart quickens, then stutters again when nothing else happens. Tony gingerly places a hand on Peter's ankle over the blanket as his lips pull in bitterness. He'd hoped for something just as she has, and now they share the same, crippling feeling that something good's just been stolen from them.

Strange's deep voice turn them away from their thoughts: “The good news is: Peter is among us, both bodily and mentally. He's aware of what's happening and registers every sensorial input.”

“Then why isn't he acknowledging us? Why isn't he talking?” May asks, frowning.

“I believe the bond with the Soul Realm hasn't been completely severed,” Strange threads carefully and glances between her and Tony to make sure they're both fully understanding. “A part of his soul is still probably stuck halfway, from what I've been able to determine in the astral plane. That means he's living in some sort of illusion; either that, or there's something preventing him from acting as he'd wish.”

May can't help but gape and cover her mouth. “Is it fixable?” She manages to ask, hating her voice sounding so small.

Strange hesitates and seems displeased. “With access to the Stone, maybe--”

“We _can't_ risk accessing it,” Tony interrupts him sternly. That statement seems to pain him beyond reason, but his voice doesn't waver.

“ _Of course_ we can't,” Strange almost looks offended by Tony's unspoken assumption. “But his soul is only wobbling on the threshold, so it shouldn't be that hard to pull it back completely. There might be other ways to work around the issue, even without the Stone,” he discloses, and May feels it's too good to be true.

“What are you suggesting?” Tony's eyes now narrow in interest, as do May's.

“You won't like this,” Strange warns him beforehand and takes a deep breath. “If it's the Stone's doing, maybe Miss Maximoff could--”

“Over my dead body I'm letting the witch _anywhere_ near the kid,” Tony abruptly snaps, and his face darkens as if the Doctor had proposed some sort of blood ritual to help Peter.

“Tony? What the--” Mays starts off, baffled, and her voice overlaps with the Doctor's:

“I understand the knowledge of her interference with you has been a tough blow, but--”

“ _Interference?_ ” Tony cuts him short again, now seething. “She fucked with my goddamn mind and got away with it for years!” He raises his voice, just shy of a yell. May has never seen him so outraged before and instinctively takes a step towards Peter.

“What's this all about?” she tries again, more earnestly, eyes bouncing back and forth between them both still standing off. “Who's Maximoff?”

“The Scarlet Witch,” Strange provides, anticipating Tony's snarky reply. “One of the new Avengers who recently signed the Accords. She's linked to the Mind Stone in ways that don't matter to us now, but she could be able to help our case with her powers,” he briefly explains, holding his unflappable demeanor.

“And why won't you let her help?” May turns to Tony, who's placed a hand on his forehead in an attempt at regaining his composure, though his fist is still clenched.

When he talks, his voice is strained: “Remember Ultron? Well, _my_ fault, _her_ fault. She put things in my head, things that lured me into building that screw-up of an AI. Too bad no one _ever_ cared to tell me, except from someone who's barely known me for three weeks and isn't _even_ an Avenger,” he scoffs through his teeth before loosening up a notch and looking at the Doctor. “I'm-- I'm thankful for that, by the way. You're just not the one I should've heard this from,” he clarifies, as disappointment washes over his features. Strange doesn't comment to that, but he makes a face of obvious disapproval as well.

May takes in Tony's words. Who the hell is she supposed to entrust her boy to? She clears her throat, trying to sound reasonable: “Given the premises, this... _proposal_ is not enticing in the least,” May diplomatically admits, landing her worried eyes on Peter.

“It's _crazy_ , that's what it is,” provides Tony, now worked up again as he glares daggers at Strange, who aloofly holds his gaze.

“I don't like her more than you do, but she could help, Stark. She's the Mind Stone's direct by-product and has been in close contact with Vision for years. She might not completely understand the Soul Stone, but she has a drop of one of its companions in her veins. And she can actually _see_ in Peter's head. You're smart enough to do the math yourself, so just tell me if you _really_ believe this isn't a reasonable thought,” Strange asks, daring him to deny that fact.

Tony produces a visibly forced nod. “It's... _plausible_ she could help. _Or_ she could scramble his brain so bad we'd be stuck dealing with a deranged super-kid,” he hisses, shooting a pained look at both May and Peter.

“And what interest could she have in that?” Strange taunts him without ever losing his composure.

Tony presses his lips together and falls silent. May stares at him intently, then gently puts a hand on his forearm, drawing his attention. “Tony? Why do you think she'd want to hurt Peter?” she asks, more composedly than the Doctor had, despite fear's tight grip at her throat.

Tony wavers and averts his gaze. “She doesn't care about _him_ ,” he falters. “But she hates _me_ , and for good reason. And-- and _this_ would be a perfect way to hurt me,” he says quickly, looking anywhere but in her eyes and lingering on Peter instead.

“I am the Sorcerer Supreme,” Strange suddenly states, with a hue of pride. “That means Wanda's powers fall under my jurisdiction. Should the need arise, I'm able to prevent her from causing any harm, and punish her accordingly,” this time, Strange directly looks at May, who's begun chewing her lips.

“I don't know. I have no idea who this Wanda is and Tony's description of her isn't exactly flattering,” she says, indecisively.

“I understand your concern. Maybe I can offer a backup plan,” Strange adds, warily, before addressing Tony again. “You still have that B.A.R.F. technology of yours?”

Tony quickly turns his eyes to him, both surprised and hopeful.

“Barf?” May quizzically stares at him and he tilts his head in a slightly embarrassed gesture.

“Yeah, I _still_ gotta work on that acronym,” he admits, but his gaze brightens up as he clears the matter up for her. “Binarly Augmented Retro-Framing technology. In a nutshell: don't like your memories? You put these fancy glasses on, rewrite them from scratch and live happily ever after,” his tone sounds borderline sarcastic. “You think that's our go-to solution?” he asks the Doctor, though not looking all that convinced himself.

“It could help us getting to him, but _you're_ the expert in this field,” he pauses, before slightly raising his eyebrows. “You didn't think about it yourself?” Strange's voice is not mocking, but Tony's frown deepens all the same.

“I did,” he clicks his tongue in irritation. “It just didn't seem to fit our case. He--” he glances over to Peter, “He's unresponsive and that's a willing and demanding process. You have to focus on the memory and work on rebuilding it step by step. It's rare for it to work on the first try and, on top of that, it leaves you with a migraine afterward,” he finishes, running his hand through his hair.

“I think it's still worth a shot,” May hears herself say, more decisively than she actually feels. “I surely trust you more than I would trust a stranger. Worst case scenario, he'll just be wearing some weird glasses and get a strong headache,” she purses her lips at the thought and looks at Peter as if to apologize to him.

Tony just carefully nods. “We can give it a try. It's safer to do it at the Compound; Banner will be glad to assist--” he trails off and stares at Strange questioningly. “That is unless you want to become Spidey's official physician.”

Strange shakes his head. “I'd love to follow the case up close, but I have more urgent matters to attend to,” he replies, unemotionally as usual, but giving May a vaguely apologetic look.

“You can both come over this weekend,” Tony goes on then. “I'll be busy brushing General Ross off my back until then,” he grimaces in open displease as he stands up, a bit wobbly.

“That's all set, then,” the Doctor briskly concludes as he dons his yellow gloves again.

“Thank you for your advice, Doctor,” May says, wholeheartedly.

He quietly smiles back. “He's a good kid,” he adds, nodding at Peter as if that would explain all. He then turns to Tony, with a half-reprimanding, half-mocking scowl, “This one, on the other hand...”

“Yeah, yeah, I owe you one, Houdini,” Tony dismissively replies, “You earned that invitation, I s'pose,” he grumbles then, making to follow them in the living room. He stops in the doorway, sending a quick, saddened look at Peter from over his shoulder. May is about to say something to reassure both him and herself, when he leans on the door frame with both his palms and suddenly speaks up:

“Hey, kiddo! I know you can hear me, so listen up!" He begins, rather loudly. "Just so you know, Pepper can't wait to have you over for dinner again, Rhodey misses telling you embarrassing snippets about me and the team's talking my ear off about meeting you. And I have a couple of new contraptions back at the 'shop that I need a hand with,” he takes a short breath, hesitating. “Just so you know,” he finishes off with a light grin, the he pulls back and joins them in the living room.

“Well, was that cheesy,” Strange bemusedly comments as Tony approaches, causing the man to roll his eyes, but there's no malice in his words. He proceeds to creating a portal with wide, circular movements of his arms, and Stark Mansion peeps out on the other side. Strange is the first to enter and waits for Tony to follow suit.

Tony turns to May instead, with an uncertain expression plastered on his face. “About the wit-- Wanda... I don't think you should discard the idea completely,” he manages to ground out with great effort, and May just listens attentively. “But first I have to make sure she won't seek revenge for what I did to her. There's still bad blood between us,” his gaze then sinks to his feet and he shakes his head. “I'm sorry, I just seem to keep making things worse or hinder you and-- I shouldn't even _be_ here I-- I'm just sorry,” he repeats, head still bowed.

May heaves a little sigh and stares at him in resignation. When will he ever stop blaming himself for every problem in the world? “You brought Peter back, you've watched over him in every way you could and then some and you've given him way more than just a new suit and some cool tech,” she smiles when he raises his eyes, slightly widened in surprise. “You're clear in my book,” she concludes, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn't reply, as if he's busy working out his words. “So I'm finally forgiven for not telling you about our Underoos right away?” he smirks in the end, clearly making an effort to hide his emotion, even though his shimmering eyes are giving it away loud and clear.

“Don't get me started about it,” she warns him, with a jokingly stern look, pointing her threatening finger right before his nose.

Tony lets out one last, teary chuckle before heeding to Strange's umpteenth, exasperated call and hopping back home through the portal. May waves back at him, Pepper and Strange right on the other side, then the portal vanishes with a last spurt of sparks.

Her body feels lighter as she heads back to Peter's room. She'd forgotten how good it is to have a family.

 

*

 

She looks at the clock again, knowing it will be another long, long night, despite all the progress that's been made. She steps into the living room, where Peter spontaneously moved to lye on the couch, and she sits down next to him, lifting his head to let it rest in her lap. He doesn't object and only grips his blanket tighter, jaw set and knuckles going white. His eyes stay fixed on the couch's leather but grow just a bit wider, as if he's ready to fight back the enemies that only exist in his head.

May remembers Tony and Strange's words: he can hear them, wherever his true self is. So she leans in close and places a delicate hand on his cheek before she speaks in a warm voice: “They all care for you, sweetheart. You heard that. Me, Tony, Pepper, Ned, MJ, Strange, Rhodey, your fellow Avengers...” she lists as many as she can think of as she keeps brushing his cheek. “We're all waiting for you.”

Peter's eyes are now slivered open, as if he's really about to fall asleep. She reaches for his hair and strokes it in a familiar gesture, the one she's been doing since he was no more than a toddler. Her fingers sink into the soft light brown locks falling on his forehead and gently pull them back, uncovering his pale skin.

“I wish Ben was here,” she whispers ever so softly, without even intending to, then lands a light kiss on his temple.

Peter shifts in his position and curls tighter on himself. She feels a shiver running through his body and it takes her a few moments to notice he's quietly crying. She stares at him in disbelief, wavering between worry and relief, because that's a reaction, that's her boy _talking_ to her even if he physically can't. She holds him close as he rests in her arms with his face pressed against her shoulder. She manages to fight back her own tears and she feels Peter fumbling for her and then weakly squeezing her arm. She feels like a part of her weight has been relieved from her shoulders.

Peter is here, somewhere. He's with her. And she's doing what she's always done: protecting him, nurturing him and loving him in every way she can.

May opens her eyes after what feel like a few minutes and finds herself staring at the dim, gray light emerging on New York's skyline out the window. Peter is still awake in her arms, breathing softly as he lightly clings to her, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

She gently ruffles his hair, a smile pulling the corners of her lips.

She hasn't properly slept that night as well.

But at least she knows that she's doing good, exactly as Ben would have.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, kudos to you if you've read 'til here <3
> 
> As I anticipated in the first chapter, Tony doesn't know Wanda has manipulated him until Strange tells him (I imagine the Supreme Sorcerer would know if someone has been under the effect of a sorcery, but anyway, the whys and hows are not the focus here-- maybe I'll write about it somewhere else).  
> The talk about the Stone's effects and how Peter's still trapped in the Soul Realm are pure conjectures and speculations, but I tried to make them fit with what little we know from the MCU. Strange's guess about Wanda being able to help relies solely on the fact that the Infinity Stones share a link to each other, so it seems plausible to him that she could establish some sort of connection with the Soul Realm, however feeble.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and don't be afraid of letting me know what you think! Feedback is the writer's fuel :D


	5. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally: Peter PoV, yay!
> 
> EDIT 11/17/2018: The story is on a brief hiatus and I don't expect to update 'til December. I have very little time to write and I also have to juggle with this account and my main one on EFP. Constantly switching between languages has proven counter-productive and I feel like giving priority to some projects in Italian I've been neglecting of late before properly finishing off this story. I promise it'll be worth the wait :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I spotted some typos while I was re-reading this chapter and I decided to fix them. Too bad AO3 just froze and I somehow ended up losing the whole chapter altogether.  
> The whole. Chapter. Gone. Along with all the corrections and changes I'd made. Great.  
> So here I am uploading it again. Sorry for the double notification you may have gotten.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the amazing feedback in the previous chapter, that's what keeps me writing <3

It's getting harder to breathe.

 

He doesn't feel like he's getting enough oxygen, no matter how hard he tries. There's a boulder on his rib cage, slowly and painfully compressing his lungs.

It feels like he's under the rubble again.

He's been remembering the building over and over again. He can't stop thinking that what happened on Titan should've happened under the rubble.

The building should've crushed him into smithereens.

He should be long dead. That's how it should've gone.

He'd broken free instead, only to be crushed to ashes two years later on Titan.

Fate can surely be a bitch.

 

And now he can't help thinking that something else will crush him again, this time for good. This time his rib cage will give in and his lungs will turn to mush or he will just turn to ashes again as his spider-sense screams in agony.

Instead, he's stuck into this eerie, yellow-tinted world where breathing is getting harder. He recognizes the places, the faces, the voices, but he can't reach out to them. They all bear an unsettling amber hue – even the voices seem somehow _yellow_ and they're set on a deeper, wrong frequency.

Sometimes he wonders if they're really there or if he's still stuck in that orange void or if this is just his mind making up things to prevent him from going crazy. The thing is, he's going crazy anyway, so he doesn't question too much the reality of what he's seeing or hearing.

 

And the words. They won't come. He can feel them piling up against his throat, and every time they seem to find a crack in that invisible wall, they just get sucked away again, into the inner vortex that's driving him insane.

He wants to call May and tell her not to worry, but he can't. He wants to call Mr. Stark and tell him it's not his fault, but he _just can't_ . He wants to tell them both how happy he is that they're alive and well, but he just _fucking can't_.

His mind simply decided to lock his throat and toss the key somewhere inside the vortex.

 

Right now, he can feel his body too, or at least what he reckons to be his body. He always makes an effort to remain aware and conscious of what's happening around him, but sometimes his grip on reality slips and every sense goes numb. In those moments, he's back under the rubble, or in a dark locker at school, or in a stuck elevator and all he can do is keep breathing as his lungs turn into concrete.

He tries moving but, as always, just a faint spur reaches his limbs. He makes an effort to focus his eyes and his head starts to throb as it seems on the point of splitting in half. His vision doubles for an instant: an amber, endless void on one side; the outlines of a known room on the other. He focuses on the latter, unable to blink as to ease the dryness in his burning eyes, but the heavy veil clouding them vanishes.

He's not at home anymore. Sheer, irrational fear stirs his insides. Where is he? When did they move him? Who's _they?_ Why can't he remember? He can't breathe now. Did he eventually fall asleep?

He can't help the shivers that start running down his spine at the thought and he wishes he could shut his eyes close again. But he can't allow himself that, lest he goes back to the amber desert that's had him captive for so long. He can't even fathom that, so he just lets his body give in to fear, in the hope that all that shuddering will at least keep him awake.

 

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

 

It's Aunt May's voice, coming from his left, but he can't bring himself to turn his head; that's too much of an effort and his muscles are already on the verge of tearing apart. He feels something warm and smooth on his cheek, and now May's right in front of him. He can count every line of worry on her forehead and every bag under her tired eyes, even though it's through that horrifying amber glass.

 

“Don't worry. We're right here,” May soothes him, though with a hint of anxiety latched onto her words.

 

She's cupping his face now and her soft hands feel so reassuring. He doesn't want them to let go of him, but soon the warmth on his skin fades away and it goes cold again. She steps away, standing just out of the corner of his eyes. He wishes he had still the strength and will to hug her like last time – who knows when that's actually been? – but he feels too weak to even keep his thoughts straight, let alone move.

He tries to figure out where he is and struggles to identify a workshop, probably the one at the Compound; he doesn't insist too hard in recollecting more memories, as it's already proven painful and useless before. He's sitting on an office chair and just the tips of his feet rest on the floor. He manages to blink a couple of times and that sends a pang right through his optical nerves. He stiffens and sets his jaw, wishing he could at least express his pain vocally.

Just then another hand, firmer and larger than May's, sets on his shoulder and gently squeezes it.

 

“Hey, kid, no need to get all worked up. We got you,” Mr. Stark's low voice reaches his ears and Peter feels just a little bit safer in knowing they're both here with him. He knows he's acting childish, but he doesn't want to be alone, not when all he sees is filtered through a cold yellow lens.

 

“So, you tested them?” A third, unknown male voice steps in. It's coming from behind him and he feels Mr. Stark's hand shift slightly, as if he's turning to face it.

 

“Yep, already gave me a hell of a headache, but they work just fine,” Stark answers, ending the sentence in a muffled groan.

 

“Then we're clear to proceed?” The other voice asks again, followed by a shuffle of heavy feet.

 

“I think so...” Mr. Stark's hand lifts from his shoulder and then he's right in front of him. He looks like he hasn't sleep in a month and he's frowning, though the hint of a smirk rests at the corner of his lips. He's holding a strange pair of glasses in his hand, and keeps swirling them by their stem. He crouches before him as he keeps talking. “Alright, kid, here's your ticket out of there, wherever the hell you're stuck right now,” he starts off, looking him right in the eye as to make sure he's listening.

 

Peter can't give him any sign that he actually is, but he concentrates on his every word, trying to hold on each of them. He repeats them to himself several times. He can get out of here. He can go back to normal, he can lift this yellow curtain from his eyes. Whatever Mr. Stark's planning, it will work; everything he makes does. He tries to get a grip on himself and stay concentrated. It's so hard to retain any kind of information; the past days – or weeks, he doesn't know for sure – are but a blur.

He remembers Titan the most – first, the excruciating pain and the guilt to leave May alone again and Mr. Stark to believe it was all his fault; then, the feeling of having his body back and then snatched from him again. He remembers May cuddling him and trying to make him talk or sleep, but that could be a memory of the past as well. He remembers Mr. Stark going on about Iron Man and about things he doesn't quite recall – and maybe it's better that way.

He remembers how terribly exhausting it was to hug May when she mentioned Uncle Ben. That moment is seared into his brain and he's so glad he's been able to bring her some comfort, even though he'd cried like a little kid right afterward. She already tries so hard and he's caused her so much pain and worries. She's worth every effort he could possibly make and it won't ever be enough anyway.

 

“You're sure it's safe, right?” Now he feels May's hands rest on his shoulders and, this time, he can't reach to them. It's so frustrating, so infuriating, not having the slightest control over his body unless he puts every fiber of his being in it. He's too worn out for that now.

 

Damn, he's Spider-Man. He lifted a building and now he can't even lift a finger. _So_ frustrating.

 

“It is. I've gone through this several times and I'm still up and running. But, truth be told, I have no idea how he'll react,” Mr. Stark says, weighing the glasses in his palm. He briefly looks up over his shoulder, in May's direction, then stares back at him and he lets out a half sigh. “You're probably hating us for how we're talking around you, but I swear you will soon be able to tell that to our faces, you hear me?” He lifts up the glasses so that they're right before his eyes and Peter can see some sort of sensors attached at the end of the stems.

 

Someone moves behind Mr. Stark and halts a couple of steps away, arms tightly folded on his chest. Peter doesn't dare to avert his eyes from the glasses, lest he loses his wavering focus, but he thinks he recognizes Doctor Banner – the Hulk. He doesn't know what to make of this information, but he figures the more genius minds around, the better for him.

 

“Brucie, let's get him prepped, shall we?” Mr. Stark says, and his eyes stay serious and fixed on Peter's face despite his almost chipper tone.

 

Banner promptly approaches and straps something similar to a watch to his wrist. “This is just to monitor your heart rate and blood pressure, Peter,” he explains in a measured voice, then sticks what feel like tiny suction cups on both his temples. He senses a faint uneasiness at all that “prepping”. “And this is for your brainwave, so you're fully covered.”

 

Peter can see him from the corner of his eye and his features look relaxed. He's not exactly the kind of person he'd have expected to host the Hulk. Some childish part of him would wonder if he'd look just as yellowish in his monstrous green form, but right now he's got more pressing matters to deal with.

 

“So, now that you're all set up, I'll introduce you to this baby here,” Mr. Stark gestures with the glasses and rests the hand that's holding them on his knee and Peter is glad he's got a physical connection to both him and May. It helps him stay focused and it's comforting at the same time. “These should help you clear up some of the bad moments you've experienced recently. If you manage to throw in the trash a part of those, or you just change them in any way you like, it will make it easier for you to reach out to us and for us to get through to you. At least, that's the plan,” he adds as if he's afraid to get his hopes too high. “I've enhanced them a bit so you don't need to physically project the memories; you'll have your privacy and you will be the only one seeing them on here,” he taps on the lenses with a fingernail.

 

Peter would nod if he could, but he's forced to just stare blankly at him, as the engineer probably wonders if he'd better talk to a wall instead of wasting his time with a catatonic kid who'd almost got him killed. He smothers that thought, but it keeps crawling in the back of his head, ready to strike again.

 

“What you gotta do, is focus on some memory that's bothering you right now. It--” he stammers and briefly averts his eyes, “Maybe you could start with what happened on Titan, since that's when this whole mess began,” he says in one breath, clearly struggling to keep a casual tone.

 

Peter feels his spider-sense awaken even though there's no imminent danger. It always happens when his thoughts linger on that moment and he's not sure he can live through that again to fix it for good.

 

“Anyway, that's your call, as long as you choose a-- a _worthy_ memory, if that makes sense. 'Cause this gimmick here is gonna sting a bit and then leaves you with a nasty headache, so I don't want you to go through more tries than necessary.” He wets his lips before resuming, “And try not to wander off too much in your own mind. It can get tricky to handle the overload, trust me on that. So you choose your memory, stick to it and work on that, got it?” He smirks and looks up to where May is standing with her hands still on Peter's shoulders, then slightly nods as if he's just received her approval. “Well, then.”

 

Mr. Stark straightens up and carefully slides the glasses behind Peter's ears and on his nose, making sure the sensors stick to the sides of his head. Peter feels the hair on his nape stand and a faint, annoying buzz that seems to reverberate in his skull. It immediately feels like a ring of pressure is building around his head.

His vision stays focused, if still imbued in the yellow hue. He can almost pretend he's wearing a pair of those silly party glasses with cheap, colored plastic lenses. His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember-- first, actually, he should work on _how_ he's gonna remember anything when his brain feels so sluggish.

 

“You're clear to go, Peter,” Banner says. “We'll be ready to take them off if your body shows any signs of distress.”

 

Peter is not sure his body can actually react properly to whatever stress is going to endure in a matter of seconds - if he's lucky and he manages to kick-start his brain again – but it's not like he can argue right now. He feels May lightly kissing him on the head as her hands remain on his shoulders and Mr. Stark's hand gingerly resting on his wrist. He concentrates on those sensations and he feels a little more grounded and aware of himself.

He sets his gaze on the amber lenses as blurred images start to emerge on them, and he puts every last bit of energy in shaping them out. He takes a deeper breath, however tiring that simple gesture is, and he feels both May's and Mr. Stark's grip tighten.

 

“It's gonna be fine, sweetheart.”

 

“C'mon, kid. You got this.”

 

*

 

Of course, he's back on Titan. The planet's burnt-orange sand is the first thing that comes into his vision, along with its yellowish sky. He's starting to hate those colors and he's glad his suit is a bright, vivid red and blue.

There's no one there yet. He's alone among the ruins.

The scenery flickers for an instant, like one of those old TVs wavering between the channels as they struggle to pick up the right signal. There's a back alley, then a busy city street, then the ferry, then it settles on Titan again. He glimpses a collapsed building – _the_ building – and he drives that memory away.

That's _not_ the one he needs right now. He has to go back to the ashes and the void right after instead, so he can change his memories and maybe escape the terrifying limbo that holds him prisoner-- that's what Mr. Stark said, and he has to trust him. The thought petrifies him, but he and May both believe he can do this. He's Spider-Man and he's an Avenger, now. He's faced worse, he's faced death. This shouldn't be that hard.

So he directs his every last bit of attention to raking up those past images that keep his mind in shackles. He's lost perception of his body by now, but it only helps him sink into his memory more. He starts recalling those moments.

There was Mr. Stark. He's the easiest to bring into focus and he immediately stands before him, clad in his suit, with a standard-worried look on his face. That Strange wizard takes some more seconds, but he finally manages to visualize him as he floats cross-legged a few inches from the ground. No matter how hard he racks his brains: he can't remember the others. Their faces remain but smeared blotches of color on their anonymous bodies.

That leaves Thanos. He's painfully easy to remember: massive build, icy gaze, the giant, murderous hand wrapped in the bronze gauntlet. He can almost feel it as it viciously closes around his neck and slams him to the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs...

 

 

He's brought back under the rubble.

Pillars crumbling, walls caving in, the ceiling collapsing on him. Dirt, lime and blood in his mouth, dust on his tongue and in his throat as he whines in pain. An unmovable mound of debris weighing like a hydraulic press on his shoulders, squeezing, and squeezing until his breath is but a feeble, pathetic wheeze.

He struggles to drive those sensations away: he has to stand his ground on Titan, he has to fulfill his task, he has to go back to the people he loves...

 

 

Suddenly, he's out of the rubble and into a crowded street. The streetlights are on, yellow cabs drive past him at snail's pace and hurried commuters shove him aside to reach the subway station behind him. New York's skyscrapers reach high into the cold night sky, silently watching the people bustling about at their feet.

Peter feels the air around him thin out like he's on the spaceship again and some part of him wishes he was-- that he could just disappear in outer space right now instead of being here. He knows that street. He feels his spider-sense go haywire even though he already knows what's about to happen and knows he can't do anything against it-– he had his chance and he missed it, and now it's too late for that.

The shot still catches him off guard and sends his heart up his throat. He knows exactly where to look – he doesn't _want_ to, he _knows_ what he's going to see and yet his eyes snap in that direction, like something's actually going to change, like Uncle Ben won't be lying in a pool of his own blood, clutching at his guts as his glassy eyes stare unseeing at that black sky-- he doesn't want to see that again, he wants to run away and he wants to puke for wanting to run away, because it's _his_ fault. The worst thing he could ever have imagined happened because of _him_. Because he could've done something, but he didn't...

 

 

He turns, tears already brimming in his eyes, and instead of a blood-stained sidewalk and Ben's dying eyes, he's met by Titan's reddish dunes again. He's barely started to breathe a sigh of relief, that it gets caught halfway as he gapes, eyes wide open and fixed right before him in horror.

Thanos stands tall, a cruel grimace on his monstrous face as he delves the blade deeper into Tony's side. He gasps, struggling to hold his footing, but he stumbles backward as he feebly tries to pull the dagger from his guts, blood trickling down his chin as his eyes turn glassy. His legs give in and Thanos pushes him back, ready to deliver the final blow.

 

“ _This can't be happening-- not again, not again,_ not again _\-- this isn't happening –- oh, God, this_ isn't _happening again.”_ His brain loops those same words over and over again as he wills his body to move, but the input gets lost before it reaches his limbs. He's too far away. He can't help him, as he couldn't help Ben back then and it's his fault again-- 'cause he wasn't brave enough, or good enough, and he's just a kid and Ben told him he had responsibilities and Mr. Stark told him to be better than him and they'd both sent him back where he belonged-- if he'd just listened maybe they'd still be alive...

 

 

And now he's on the sidewalk again, knees drenched in blood as he uselessly shakes his uncle's lifeless body. He leans forward and clings to Ben's jacket as he presses his face against his motionless chest, trying to fight back the sobs. And maybe he's on Titan and that's Tony's body, or maybe he's somewhere else crying for someone else-- because he couldn't seem to protect _anyone_ he loved.

The ground yields under his feet and he feels himself slowly sink as his mind goes blind, erasing those scenes and sending him into a blissful darkness.

He had a mission.

What was that again?

He had to change something.

He's Spider-Man. He could've saved them both. But he didn't, and nothing can change that now.

His head swirls around itself and he's in the vortex again.

 

*

 

“Bruce? What the hell's up with him?”

 

“I don't know, he looks stable to me. Move, let me--”

 

“Dr. Banner? What's wrong?”

 

“I-- I think he's having a reaction. Take those things off before he...”

 

“It's been only three minutes, how in the world...”

 

“Doesn't matter, just-- shit! Tony, hold him! He's seizing!”

 

“Take those damn things off _now!_ ”

 

 

*

 

Peter feels the suppressed sobs rack his chest, unable to escape his mouth and turn into sounds. It hurts as if someone had shoved firecrackers into his lungs just before they went off. He feels May's arms around him, but they overlap with Ben's as he slipped away and with Tony's as he himself was fading to ashes on Titan. His head is killing him and feels strangled by a bear trap.

 

“Peter, it's over, you're back here with us. Just lay down for a while, okay? Try to sleep a little bit, if you can.”

 

He can't, and he won't. He really wishes they would leave him alone, now.

 

*

 

When he regains consciousness, he feels numb, as if he'd been resting on a bed of snow. His eyes burn fiercely but he forces them to bring his surroundings into focus, painfully escaping the darkness around him and entering his amber-tinted world.

His head hurts so bad he can barely keep his vision straight, but he manages to recognize the med bay at the Compound. He's been there a couple of times to patch himself up after some reckless stunt. He's lying in one of the six beds lined up against the wall. As the outlines clear up, he realizes that something is blocking his line of sight.

To his surprise, Doctor Strange is standing at his bedside. His eyes are shut and his hands form circles just below the medallion as he breathes slowly and deeply, his head slightly bowed forward. He snaps out of his meditation just then and peers straight at him with his lively eyes.

 

“Welcome back among us,” he simply greets him with a thin smile, lowering his hands and relaxing his shoulders. “I've been keeping an eye on you, or rather your soul, from the astral plane. I knew when you'd be back here,” he says then, cleverly foreseeing his unexpressed question.

 

Peter, as always, can only flatly stare back at him, but he's glad the Sorcerer is making an effort to be more accommodating than he usually is. He doesn't seem the patient type, despite his monk-like appearance.

 

“You've been out of it for nearly ten hours,” he announces then, turning his piercing stare to him again.

 

A shadow of his utter surprise must make his way on his face, since Strange feels the need to add, in a more comforting tone: “Stark called right after his attempt with the glasses went awry. You've been under close surveillance both physically and mentally. You've had a mild seizure and spiked a fever. Your soul wandered off for a while, but I've been able to keep it in sight,” he explains without the blink of an eye, and Peter feels somehow reassured that he, at least, seems to have this whole situation under control. “Your aunt is still busy discussing with your mentor,” he tells him then, clasping his hands behind his back as he looks at him intently. “She's understandably not very pleased with the outcomes of Stark's technology. She's been chewing him out for a while, now,” he realizes, quickly looking sideways to the glass door. His tone is almost amused, but his demeanor stays serious.

 

Peter feels a pang of guilt in his stomach. Everyone seems to be worried about him, and he can't help thinking that he doesn't deserve the attention, as Mr. Stark and May don't deserve the hassle of having to look after him.

Luckily, he hears the door sliding open just in time before that thought can fully sink like a nail in the back of his head, along with all the others. There are overlapping, agitated voices – May's, Mr. Stark's, maybe Bruce's and an unknown, female one – shuffling of feet and a faint background noise that stirs his spider sense. A dormant danger, a faint siren ringing in his ears, too far away to really place his hands on where it comes from exactly.

 

“Here we go... this will take _forever_ ,” Strange quietly mutters, maybe to him, more probably to himself. He stands straight and unfazed by his bedside, still blocking his sight, as to shield him from the upcoming turmoil while his cape lazily ripples around his tall figure. “He's back among us,” he announces then, louder.

 

The chattering ceases as there's a brief, surprised lull.

 

“Thank God,” May sighs, and he hears her near his bed.

 

“Thank the wizard,” Mr. Stark briskly counters, his sarcasm only half-concealing the obvious relief.

 

May enters his field of vision, sits on the bedside and fumbles for his hand. It feels scalding in his almost icy grip. She's been crying, he can tell from her slightly swollen eyes and from how brittle her voice sounds.

He lets himself relax, even though he hadn't noticed the tension in his back. He can hear the others discussing in the background, but it's too difficult to concentrate on May's face and hand and to listen at the same time. His brain just won't have it and he's sure that any overload will cause it to shut down again. So he just finds the strength to give May's hand a light squeeze and takes in the pure, overwhelming joy that this simple gesture brings to her face.

 

*

 

A few minutes later, he's ripped from that moment of peace by his spider-sense suddenly spiking and sending off distress calls to his whole, unresponsive body. It's so strong and unexpected that he actually manages to _look_ in the direction the potential danger is coming from.

He sees a young, pale woman with long hair cascading on her shoulders. Her eyes are yellow as the rest of his twisted world, but seem off-color all the same. Her only sight makes every nerve in his body tense, but the signal is confused and teetering: she might or might not be hostile, but she can _definitely_ be dangerous. He feels he's supposed to recognize her from somewhere, but he decides against remembering. He's had enough of that already.

 

“Well, since it seems common sense isn't on trend here, I feel the urge of bringing in some of my own,” Mr. Stark's biting remark cuts the air in the room and he strolls in front of the woman with his hands lazily sunk in his pockets. She glances up at him and her eyes flare a distinct scarlet for an instant; Stark visibly stiffens, but holds his position, still glowering at her. Peter's inner alarms go off all at once and then cease just as abruptly.

 

“Tony, please,” comes Bruce's vexed plea.

 

“I thought we were all agreeing,” May says, in a mildly accusing tone, and Peter feels her hand grasping his own.

 

“I'm not disagreeing; at least not out loud,” Stark glibly retorts, before tilting his head towards the woman. “But before you go all Morgan le Fay on the kid, let me be clear,” his voice turns cold and unusually hostile, like he's talking through gritted teeth. “I see something I don't like, I won't think twice to send an unibeam straight at you and proceed to amend the Accords here and there with my own hands, regardless of what your star-spangled paladin says. Are we understood?”

 

“Stark, you stay down and let _me_ handle this appropriately.” Strange's stern, deeper voice chimes in, thoroughly annoyed.

 

“I'm not as petty as you make me out to be, Stark,” the woman scathingly answers at the same time, with a distinct eastern accent.

 

“Petty enough to make the Hulk wreak havoc on an innocent city,” is Stark's blunt reply. “Sorry, Strange, but I'm not taking any of your 'chances' _this_ time,” he ultimately scoffs.

 

“Last time I checked, my 'chances' helped you save the universe, douchebag,” Strange doesn't as much as raise his voice, but his words are latched with ice.

 

“Can't you all just stop jumping at each other's throats an _focus_ on the issue at hand?” Banner sounds calm, but Peter senses the suppressed growl in his voice, as do the others. They all fall silent at once. “We're all angry here, I _get it_. We'll have time to settle our whole past bullshit, but not now. And I mean it, Tony: cut it,” he adds then, now unmistakably chafed.

 

“As you wish, Dr. AWOL,” he still grunts back under his breath, and Banner either doesn't catch that or just pretends not to.

 

Peter senses his foot starting to twitch of his own free will under the blanket, although he couldn't bring himself to make that voluntarily if his life depended on it. The tension in the room is so palpable that what's left of his spider-sense tingles annoyingly in the background, piling up on the discomforting feeling of what has to be the woman's magic. He can't tell if his nervousness springs from how unnerved the Hulk sounds, or from the woman's unsettling presence, or from how Mr. Stark seems ready to suit up and pick a fight with everybody else in the room.

 

“Mrs. Parker, does Miss Maximoff have your permission to help Peter through her magic?” Strange formally takes the floor after the short silence, putting Bruce's words into action. Peter feels every single pair of eyes lay on him even though he can't see them all from his lying position.

 

May inhales deeply before answering. “He's all I have left,” she simply says, and Peter can sense his heart cave in at those words. “I don't know you, but from what I've been told, I'm sure you can understand how I'd feel if something happened to him,” she finishes then, her hand imperceptibly shivering.

 

“I do,” the woman breathes, a drop of sadness staining her voice.

 

Next thing Peter knows, May scoots over, squeezing his hand one last time, Doctor Strange steps aside, and he finds himself staring directly at the woman. Her expression is rather blank, but her eyes are mobile and intense as she peers at him from a distance. Peter would sigh if he could. He's getting real tired of being observed like he was some kind of outlandish circus freak.

The woman takes a step forward and Peter glimpses what seems like a thick, dark fog spring from his fingers. His spider-sense keeps quiet, if on edge.

 

“This won't hurt,” she says, and he's not sure if she's talking to him or to the rest of the room.

 

The smoky coils slither in his direction and he feels them brushing against his forehead like a warm breeze. For a single instant, the yellow veil lifts and he can't help but wince in surprise and wonder as he takes in that brief spurt of colors. He sees now the woman's eyes are a light shade of green but bear a subtle, red iridescence that shouldn't be there, resembling the fog's scarlet hue. Then he's back into his yellow world and he feels a curse dying against his seamed throat.

He can sense the magic coils carefully making their way inside his head. It's a feeling he can't quite classify as good or bad, but it surely doesn't feel natural. Unsettling, maybe. It really doesn't hurt though.

It takes him a while to notice that the light around him is slowly fading away and even more to realize that it's because his eyelids are closing.

 

No.

 

No, no, no _no_ , he can't let _that_ happen; he'll go back to the void, to the deserted orange slate that's had him captive for so long and where nobody could hear him scream; he'll go back into the stone and then under the rubble and this time he'll die-- he'll be dead, and he _can't_ be dead if May and Tony and Ned and MJ are waiting for him.

 

He can't breathe again.

 

The fear of going back to that endless, orange void widens his pupils until his eyes are almost as black as the darkness gradually engulfing him.

 

“ _Peter,”_ the woman's mellow voice echoes directly in his mind, permeating every last bit of his consciousness and opening a small clearing in the wood of his panicking thoughts. He glimpses stranger images here and there, maybe speckles of her own memories. _“I want to help you, but you have to let me. Calm down.”_

 

He perceives a stream of some sort of weird force-- _magic_ brushing against him and it doesn't come off as hostile, although marked by an underlying tinge of bitterness. He catches sight of unknown mountain landscapes filled with forests; he feels the warmth of an old, tiny house overlooking a cobbled alleyway; he smells pinewood and smoke; the sweet taste of a foreign paprika dish fills his mouth; silvery laughter rings in his ears as two children run around throwing snowballs at each other, the girl with a long, auburn braid swinging around, the boy with light blonde locks sticking out from under of his wool hat. That last image quickly fades away along with the boy's rascal smile, leaving a bittersweet trace behind it.

Peter has no idea who this woman is, only that he's met her somewhere already and that she is way more powerful than any other hero he knows. But that flow of familiar and heartfelt memories manages to pacify his raising panic until it's but a ripple on the surface of a quiet sea. She's human, despite her powers; she's had a home and a family. And she knows what pain is, he can tell by how longing those images have felt.

 

“ _I'm Wanda,”_ she says, or rather thinks after a while, and getting to have a name to go with her face makes him feel somehow better. _“I can get you out, but you have to trust me.”_

 

He _wants_ to get out and he wants so desperately to be helped. He wants to escape his amber prison and go back to the people who are so worried about him and _tell_ them with his own voice that he's fine.

So he ceases his resistance and trusts Wanda.

He feels something pulling and tugging him by the arm as if it's trying to yank him away from some kind of ropy trap enclosing his body.

 

Dizziness starts getting the better of him.

The orange eventually dims out and darkens until it turns to black.

 

 

*

 

 

The colors are back.

 

That's the first thing that hits him when he regains control of his eyes and they meet a display with a green, bright line following the beat of his heart. It dives up and down rather unnervingly, spiking and sinking in a slightly accelerated rhythm.

He blinks in the darkness, wide awake, but he senses May curled up against him over the blanket as she hugs him from behind, sleeping peacefully. He spots Mr. Stark slumped on the armchair beside his bed, his tired eyes dimly lit by his phone's screen.

Peter lies awake, too tired to even try to move or talk, and he wouldn't even if he had the energy to avoid shattering that little window of peace. He simply cherishes every single shade of color he sees again for the first time, from his light blue blanket to the vivid red AC/DC logo on Mr. Stark's t-shirt, from the clock's green numbers on the nightstand to May's maroon-painted fingernails.

A weary, spontaneous smile crawls up his parched lips as he notices Mr. Stark shift in his seat to keep himself awake and May's embrace tighten so much he can feel her heart beating against his back.

 

He finally starts to breathe again.

 

 

*

 

It's about 3 am when May wobbly stands up to go to the bathroom and, on Mr. Stark's insistence, to take a bath, relax and grab a bite while she's at it. Peter is immensely relieved when she finally caves in and reluctantly agrees on coming back in an hour or so.

Peter is still afraid to move or talk, but now that he's done analyzing and classifying the medbay's every color, tint, and hue, and May's gone, he starts thinking it rather creepy to squint through his half-closed eyelids at an oblivious Mr. Stark, who's apparently busy testing how far his back can bend without breaking in half as he sprawls further across the armchair. It's actually pretty entertaining, but he figures it's time to find out if his voice and body work.

 

“ _Mr Stark,”_ he tries to say, but the words grapple against his constricted throat to no avail and the only result is a suffocating feeling. He sighs in frustration and fidgets in his blankets, pulling his knees up to his chin and then down again. The notion that he's just moved willingly hits him with a one-second delay and he immediately starts to bend and twist every last joint in his body to verify that everything is still in working order. He feels stiff and achy, but he'd take that over being paralyzed any day.

 

His bustling soon draws Mr. Stark's attention and he looks up from his phone, luckily not noticing the idiotic way in which he's moving his fingers under the blankets just because he can.

 

Mr. Stark grins, as evident joy floods his face. “Hey, kid, you up?” He asks, and it would be a silly question, if Peter hadn't spent the majority of this last week staring off in the distance, at times completely unaware of what was happening around him.

 

But this time Peter nods back and even manages a hesitant smile. Mr. Stark's jaw drops and he stares at him in complete bafflement. “You... you're here? I mean, you're _really_ here?” He breathes, pushing himself up in a sitting position and disentangling his limbs from the blanket he'd wrapped around himself.

 

Peter nods again several times and the man covers his mouth with his hand, resting his elbows on his knees as he closes his eyes. “Ok. Ok, this-- this is real, right?” He mutters worriedly as he stands up and makes his way to the hospital bed.

 

Peter just nods back once more, firmly, and Mr. Stark heavily sits down by his side, facing him as if he didn't dare to avert his eyes from him lest he disappeared.

 

“Can you talk?” He asks again, his voice muffled against his palm.

 

Peter feels his expression grim as he slightly shakes his head. He's still lying down but he's not sure he wants to push his body and try to sit up and he's positive Mr. Stark actually won't mind if he doesn't.

 

“It's okay, kid. You'll get there; I'm just glad you... you're back,” he says, trailing off as if he's realizing that fact just at the moment he mouths the words. “Oh, God, you're back. I-- crap, give me a minute here, I'm going through a-- a system overload,” he finally says, inhaling a faltering sigh. He stands up again, scrubbing his face still in disbelief as he paces up and down.

 

Peter is half-smiling, half-furrowing, because it's so rare to see him so worked up and _emotional_ above all things, and it's all because of him. He doesn't know if that should make him feel guilty or flattered, so his expression keeps wavering between the two options, resulting in a bewildered one. But he's really, truly happy that he's here and he can't wait for Aunt May to come back too.

 

Mr. Stark suddenly turns to face him and accusingly points his finger at him, dead serious. “Don't look at me like that, kid, I'm aware that I'm royally failing at getting it together, so--” he trails off once more and plops down on the bed again, seemingly devoid of any energy. He starts rambling after just a few seconds, carefully avoiding his eyes. “I knew you'd pull through. I-- I just _knew_ it, I'm a genius, after all,” he babbles, his lips trembling between a grin and a sob. He rests his forehead on his palm as he takes another deep, shuddering breath.

 

Peter struggles to say something, _anything_ , but all he can do is push himself up and tug at his sleeve like a little kid to make him raise his head. His eyes are unmistakably rimmed with tears and one of them is rolling down his cheek. _Are you okay?_ Peter tries to put every ounce of emotion in his face to convey that simple question – because, for God's sake, Tony Stark is crying and he has absolutely no idea how to handle that.

 

Somehow, Mr. Stark gets what he's trying to say and manages to answer. “I'm fine, kid. They're tears of joy: I hate looking for new pupils,” he says with a light, wet chuckle. “And as God is my witness, if _this_ ever gets out of here, I'm putting itching powder in your onesie,” he adds, loudly sniffling one last time and straightening his back with a sudden move, as to erase that moment of softness.

 

Peter feels like laughing, but his throat seems keen on depriving him even of that gesture, so he just grins mischievously at his not-so-threatening threat. It feels so unreal to be joking with Mr. Stark as nothing had happened, and to be moving and thinking straight again and to see every single color he'd feared he would forget-- and maybe he's the one crying now.

Mr. Stark gives him a long, unsure look as he struggles to regain composure, despite Iron Man himself not being able to. Then he stretches out his arms and lets out a dramatic sigh as he rolls his eyes in a mocking way.

 

“C'mon, kid. I think we're there now,” he simply says, and before he can even finish the sentence, Peter hugs him so tight he almost knocks him over. He chuckles and his embrace tightens as well as he ruffles his hair.

 

This time it feels as it should be. All the memories of the previous, broken embraces fade away behind him as he lets this sensation become the only right one. It feels like safety and home, and like other, distant arms that he's been missing for so long.

 

“It's good to have you back, kid.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story doesn't focus very much on the relationship between the various Avengers after winning against Thanos, but I like to insert some interaction in an there to show that not all tensions have loosened up yet, particularly between members of the two opposed "factions" in Civil War.  
> Here I tried to be as fair as I could with Wanda and keep a neutral attitude towards her. Tony is biased and sour 'cause, guess what, Sokovia, and although he blames himself most for what happened there, he's definitely not going to close an eye on how Wanda's actions were never really addressed. He's not the kind of person who goes around justifying himself, so here he blames her for Hulk's rampage in Nigeria, rather than for his own mind manipulation.
> 
> Regarding Uncle Ben's death, that's a blend of both Raimi's and Webb's versions, with a touch of Peter's own worst fears added to the mix and some quote from his dialogue upon meeting Tony for the first time.
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter, even if longer than usual. And don't be afraid to leave some feedback! I love reading your reactions to what happens, so tell me what you think about it! <3


	6. What a good laugh can bring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the story and for all your kind words and comments, which really gave me the motivation to continue writing. I hope you enjoy the ending and that you'll stick around for my future works.  
> Special thanks to LemonLivesTheDreams, who's supported me throughout the story, and to atlas141, who should probably get a medal for putting up with me in English too (dai, tanto lo so che prima o poi passerai di qui <3)  
> Thank you again and Happy Holidays to you all!
> 
> You can find my Italian translation (part thereof) here -> https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3829744

 

_“There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor."_

[Charles Dickens, _A Christmas Carol_ ]

 

 

 

Peter feels like straight after he'd been bitten by the spider. His body is weird, way too powerful and always on the verge of losing its balance. He's still adjusting to having his full strength back and it's like being a toddler again as he tries to master the most basic movements and actions by trial-and-error. He's lost count of how many glasses he tipped over and how many times he tripped into his own feet or he accidentally broke something.

He's always been a major klutz, and even with his powers it had only got slightly better, but now he's a walking calamity and he thinks May still puts up with him only because she's over the moon for having him back. He's glad that at least school's out early – a gift to everyone so they can spend more time with their returned loved ones – and thus his awkwardness is not a public display yet. And he's not forced to explain why he can't talk either, which has been hard enough with MJ and Ned already.

Mr. Stark doesn't seem bothered in the least by his clumsiness and just firmly dismisses any apologize he – silently – tries to produce whenever he causes some damage. Which is fairly often, especially in a not-so-child-proof environment like the workshop. Right now, he's just bumped into Dum-E, making his robotic arm swing here and there, and the machine loudly buzzes back in a somewhat annoyed way.

 

“Hey! Language,” Mr. Stark briskly reproaches it with a scowl.

 

Peter can't help but lightly smile in return, trying not to lose his flimsy grip on the toolbox he's fetched for him. He manages to put it down on the workbench without further casualties and exhales a sigh of relief.

 

“Thanks,” Mr. Stark mutters, picking up a copper spool from the toolbox and going back to his current tinkering, which involves the housing unit for nanoparticles, several floating holograms displaying the suit's schematics and a lot of cursing under his breath.

 

Peter leans on his elbows and just quietly observes him as he's busy restoring his tech, marveling at how swiftly he handles the tiny tools he needs to fix the reactor's core. He finds himself frowning, thinking about how he could barely hold a screwdriver in his hand as Mr. Stark offered him to fix his Spider-man suit together. He'd gotten so frustrated with it that he just abruptly stepped away from the workbench, and he's only glad his mentor didn't say a single word about it and just skipped to restore his own suit instead.

Now, he kind of wishes he could try his luck at tinkering again, so he waits until Mr. Stark briefly pauses to take a look at the schematics to discreetly catch his attention by tapping him on the arm. He hates having to do so, but without his voice, he's out of options, and Mr. Stark expressly told him he was allowed to obtain his consideration by any means necessary since - in his words - he has the attention span of a three-year-old.

 

“What's up, kid?” he says, glancing sideways at him, and Peter just points at the Spider-Man suit with his chin. To his surprise, Mr. Stark openly grins at him. “Let's have a second try, then,” he states without even questioning his demand, as he already puts his project on hold to move by the other workbench.

 

Peter notices how he seems to hop along instead of keeping his usual, lively stride, and how he slightly flinches when he puts his weight on the left leg. His arm seems to fare better and he's removed any brace or bandage a few days ago; the back of his hand is still scarred by a multitude of cuts, though. He follows him without a word – in that he wouldn't say something even if he could – but his face clouds over all the same. Then he straight out frowns, taking in how Mr. Stark is leaning askew on the workbench, discreetly lifting the pressure from his left side. Before he can start talking, Peter quickly gestures in his general direction, and the engineer raises his eyebrow, as he tries to make out what he means.

 

“What?” he clearly dodges that indirect question as he fidgets with a screwdriver. “Is there something on my face?”

 

Peter then straight out points his finger at the place where the wound should be, and abruptly lowers his gaze right after. Mr. Stark hesitates for a split second, and Peter feels his heart sink, knowing damn well that it's his fault if he got stabbed.

 

“I'm fine, kid,” Mr. Stark shrugs. ”Really, they fixed me alright and chicks dig battle scars anyway,” he grins confidently and brazenly pats his side, clearly suppressing a wince of pain. Peter tentatively points at himself, and the billionaire's eyes narrow. “No. You _don't_ get to blame yourself for this, _nor_ for anything else you should ever come up with. No way I'm allowing that, you hear me?” he states, with a mixture of dismay and sternness that make his jaw set.

 

Peter just shakes his head and sinks it in his shoulders, lips thin with mortification. He hears Mr. Stark blow out a sigh as he puts a soldering iron in his slightly trembling hand. He gives him a lopsided grin when he finally meets his eyes.

 

“C'mon, let's get you back in action, shall we?” Peter just gives back a thin smile, and he hopes Mr. Stark can read the big, warm “thank you” that's written all over his face.

 

*

 

Peter's hand keeps trembling and Tony has the feeling it's not just out of sheer nervousness: it looks like he's struggling against his own body, which is not really that surprising. He eventually pierces right through the thin metal layer and he lets the soldering iron fall on the counter with a jolt. Tony quickly picks it up and puts it on its stand while Peter grits his teeth and seems about to either burst into frustrated tears or let out an enraged scream. He secretly wishes he would do the latter, but the kid keeps quiet, with his fists clenched and a pained look on his face. At least he doesn't storm away as he did before.

 

“Hey, it's fine. I have my bad days too, y'know,” he shrugs as he nonchalantly throws the ruined plate away. “As long as you don't hurt yourself in the process, you're free to wreck the 'shop. Well, apart for them two,” he makes a gesture towards Dum-E and U resting in the furthest corner. “That is unless you _really_ want to break my old heart.”

 

Tony manages to wring out a quick smile out of him and to make him focus on his task again, but he can see right through that façade. It's painful to see him so disheartened, so unmistakably _drained_. May told him that he barely has the energy to crawl out of bed in the morning, even though she's fairly sure he hasn't slept a single minute yet. It's getting hard to ignore the ever darker circles around his eyes and how hollow his cheeks are now.

Tony tries not to give away how worried he really is and, most of all, to hide the fact that he hasn't been able to sleep either. He pulls all-nighters and pretends to fall asleep in Pepper's arms, but his mind won't have him rest for more than one hour, and that's something Peter can't _ever_ find out, or he'd blame himself even more than he already senselessly does.

So he does his best to fill in the silence when it gets too deep, to offer his help and aid without coming off as if he pitied him, to be chatty and flamboyant as he always is and to adjust himself to that new, destabilizing situation, all while feeling like a zombie running on caffeine.

He's given it three more days. Then he's agreed with May that they'll have to talk about some serious methods to get some sleep, regardless of the kid's unwillingness to face the problem - and his own, for that matter. And then, if the silence doesn't break, they'll have to discuss speaking aids and maybe therapy. _Definitely_ therapy. The kid's not so messed up as he is: if _he's_ managed to get through it, Peter will too, and better yet.

 

“You're doing good," he encourages him just then, peeking over his shoulder as he's busy working on his suit's outer layer. "Now solder that one and you're done,” he points his finger at the last joint and Peter complies, although with teetering fingers. “See? You're getting the hang of it, just a couple more tries and you'll be fixing my armors for me,” he gives him a playful smirk as he lifts his own goggles and Peter follows suit.

 

A tiny smile cracks the kid's lips and the shadows in his eyes seem to wander off, only to settle again when his gaze finds the red-blue plating, with the spider symbol crossed by a jagged slash. He looks like he's about to say something, or better like he's wrestling with his own tongue to get the words out. No sound escapes his mouth and his frown gets deeper as he balls his fists again.

 

Tony reaches for his shoulder. “Don't force it, kid. Give it time,” he says, with one last squeeze.

 

Peter still looks annoyed, but he nods all the same, eyes still glued to the disfigured spider.

 

*

 

“And how long have _you_ been awake?” Bruce inquires, looking at him through the bluish hologram between them.

 

“Uh, one week?” he answers, absent-mindedly, as he drags a model of the Hulkbuster suit through the air.

 

“You _definitely_ need to sleep,” the scientist mutters, with a look of disapproval.

 

"I thought we were talking about the kid," Tony counters defensively.

 

"And now I'm talking about _you_ ," Bruce shrugs, not letting him get away that easily.

 

“Well, Doc, I've been meaning to get my beauty sleep, but... you know how it is,” he scoffs in resignation, avoiding his gaze.

 

"Yeah, I know how it is," Bruce simply answers. “You told Pepper?”

 

“No need to,” he says, as his lips quirk up in a bittersweet smile.

 

She always knows when he's sleeping or just pretending to, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from her. And the nightmares betray him every time he's actually able to close his eyes. She's been having a hard time sleeping too, so at least they get to toss and turn in bed together more often than not, and put to better use those sleepless nights.

 

“Any plans yet?” Bruce's voice luckily brings him back to reality just before his thoughts start to linger in distracting memories.

 

“Nope. I've already done my part on the scheming front and I'm at a serious loss of ideas,” he blurts out with a frustrated sigh. “I can't sleep, so I can't think straight, but I can't sleep because I'm too busy thinking,” he rambles then, playing around with the suit's model as if it were a stress ball.

 

Bruce blocks his erratic movements and catches the hologram mid-air.

 

“We'll figure this out, Tony,” he firmly says. “We always do.”

 

Tony just gives back an unconvinced nod.

 

*

 

Both Tony and Bruce tiredly walk out of the lab, headed to the common room to grab a bite, let their brains take a breath of fresh air and then go back to fix the Hulkbuster together.

Tony is planning to put that brief break to good use and spend it with Peter, who's come over at the Compound for the weekend as he used to before Thanos happened. The kid's been busy with some upgrade on his web shooters and he's made clear that he wishes to work on it on his own, but he reckons he won't actually mind if he drops by to take a quick look. Besides, the three days deadline is nearing in just a few hours, and he wants to keep him in a positive mood before the serious talks kick in and make him hate his mentor for good.

He's pulled out from his considerations by a burst of laughter coming right from the common room, followed by some muffled giggling. At first, he doesn't really think much of it, until he recognizes Clint's cackle, Natasha's high-pitched laugh and Steve's wheezing one. He exchanges a look with an equally perplexed Bruce and turns the corner with suppressed curiosity.

Steve, Natasha, and Clint are sprawled out on the couch and seem to be on the verge of suffocating on their own laughs as they watch TV, whose screen he and Bruce can't see from where they stand. Peter sits at the kitchen counter and sports a wide grin as he himself enjoys whatever the others are watching.

 

“What's the fuss all about?” Tony asks, hands in his pockets as he finally turns to face the screen.

 

A chuckle escapes his mouth and Bruce lets out an amused huff when they bring into focus the reason for all that commotion: a black and white surveillance video shows an unmistakably angry Fury pacing here and there with heavy, thundering footsteps as he turns his own office upside down full-force.

 

“Is this what I think it is?” Tony says as he nears the couch to have a better look.

 

“No way,” Bruce comments, now grinning.

 

Clint, red as a beet, manages to get just enough air to exhale a feeble "yep.”

 

“We finally found the footage,” Steve adds, partly regaining his composure.

 

“It hadn't been _completely_ deleted from SHIELD's database,” Natasha points out, giving Tony a knowing smirk, which he returns.

 

“Oh, really? What a _terrible_ oversight,” he feigns a shudder and winks back at her before turning to Peter. “Kid, did they let you in on the plot?”

 

His face reddens as the others glance in his direction all at once, and he just ever so lightly shakes his head. Tony rolls his eyes at his teammates. “Unbelievable,” he mutters accusingly under his breath. “You didn't tell him about _my_ Master Plan of Pranking?” he complains.

 

“Hey, tinhead, _I_ stole the eyepatch, so...” Clint points out, rather disgruntled.

 

“Yeah, and who covered your ass so that Fury didn't have you flayed alive?” Natasha flares a deadly glance at him as Steve suppresses a snigger and Peter watches that unusual show with an amused look on his face.

 

“Whatever,” Clint mutters, barely audible.

 

“So, what caused the nostalgic throwback?” Tony asks, as Bruce lets himself sink in the couch as well and he makes his way to the kitchen to grab some coffee.

 

“We were just... reminiscing,” Steve says, and it almost sounds like an apology.

 

“The good ol' times...” Tony leans on the counter beside Peter, keeping his gaze fixed on his ongoing project, as he knows Steve's trying to make eye contact with him. It's not like he's in the mood to properly be sullen at him, but he also doesn't want to act like they're the best buddies they never have been. “Am I supposed to shed a tear?” He lets out, unable to hold back.

 

“C'mon, Stark. Don't ruin this, will ya?” Clint scoffs, openly annoyed.

 

Tony doesn't let that comment get to him in the least as he's busy highlighting a formula on Peter's schematics and providing a correction. The kid nods in approval, while he silently listens to their bickering with a seemingly worried look, and Tony finds himself wishing he'd never stepped into the room.

 

“I won't,” he finally clips, with no emotion whatsoever, then puts down the pencil and raises his eyes with a half smirk. “I was actually thinking about the ton of other embarrassing videos of yours I might have collected throughout the years...” he teases, observing their definitely worried reactions and taking note of Peter's sudden interest lighting up his eyes. He nonchalantly draws his phone from his pocket and offers them a sly sneer.

 

“So, who wants in first?”

 

*

 

Twenty minutes later, Tony feels like he's just done a couple dozen sit-ups and fears that he'll never be able to draw a full breath again. They've been laughing so loud, that they managed to even drive out Rhodey, Wanda and Pepper, probably worried about an outburst of collective hysteria. The wide couch has become overcrowded in which Steve, Clint, Natasha, Rhodey, Wanda and Bruce decided they would all fit on it even if they clearly don't, until Wanda moves over to the armchair. She seems to make an effort to maintain her usual demeanor, even if there's a lingering smirk on her face.

Tony has given up his seat beside Peter to Pepper and now lightly hugs her from behind with his chin on her shoulder as he controls the TV through the phone feeling like when he would steal the remote as a kid. He hasn't had so much fun since a long time and finds himself genuinely happy as he hears and feels Pepper laugh wholeheartedly against him. The kid can't stop grinning too, and he's only glad to be able to drive some of his worries away. All in all, he's just happy to share a carefree afternoon with his teammates pretending nothing ever happened between them. Sometimes, pretending is most needed.

He's just about to start a video about Clint being inconceivably drunk after Natasha's birthday party when someone takes over the TV with their own device. He hears suspicious whispering and snickering coming from both Natasha and Steve, until the former turns to him with an unexpected, impish expression on his choirboy's face.

 

"Tony, now you're in for the walk of shame," he announces, barely holding back his hilarity.

 

"Since when are we on a first-name basis?" Tony jokingly raises his eyebrows. "Besides that, Capsicle, there are loads of _certain_ videos of yours I might want to watch." He makes a significant pause and Steve pales. "Again," he adds then, with a crooked grin.

 

“Oh, you _didn't_ ,” he utters in horror. Tony just smirks wider.

 

“Blame it on the kid,” he says, giving Peter a playful shove as he seemingly tries to become invisible. “He's the one who introduced me to your PE lessons. Pure trauma-recovery gold, trust me,” he adds, without actually trying to imply anything, but the words just slip out the wrong way. He feels Pepper discreetly encircling his wrist as to hold him back.

 

“I can't believe they used them for real,” Steve just ignores the jab and scoffs in disbelief.

 

“Well, I'm glad they did,” Tony simply comments, evening his voice out in a peace offering. He then gives Pepper's hand a squeeze and makes his way to the couch, coffee in hand as he gestures towards Rhodey. “C'mon, I demand the right to have a front seat to my shaming rack, thank you very much,” he says, and his friend complies a bit too promptly.

 

“As you wish. I know the gist already,” he says mysteriously, exchanging an eloquent look with Natasha.

 

Tony frowns as he sinks in the couch, now a bit uneasy under their amused eyes. And he realizes just now that Steve's sitting right beside him, barely at arm's length, which doesn't really help his nerves. He shoots a glance and Pepper and Peter and notices how the kid's gaze is wandering off, probably out of tiredness and frustration for his inability to take part in the discussion. He's just pondering if telling him to sit with them would be a good idea or not when Steve notices his look.

 

“Peter? Come over,” he invites him, and the kid looks like he's just had a heart attack as he frantically looks between him, Tony and the others.

 

“Yeah, you're an Avenger too, after all,” Natasha adds, and Peter still needs a light push from Pepper's side to finally stand up and goofily walk towards them as if he's just been sent to the gallows.

 

“Is he?” Clint asks, perplexity making its way on his face.

 

“I appointed him myself,” Tony can't help sounding a bit offended on the kid's behalf for his disbelief. “Besides, I need a buffer between me and the old man, lest hell breaks loose again,” he snickers, pointing at Steve.

 

He gives him the evil eye in response. “Tony...”

 

“For Chrissakes, I'm _joking_ ,” he sighs in exasperation.

 

“Don't get started, you two,” Natasha intervenes, sounding ready to knock the both of them out should the need arise.

 

Peter awkwardly sits between them, tense as a spring ready to jump off. Tony thinks best not to aggravate him even more and just gives him a discreet smirk, as he patiently waits for Natasha to set the video.

As soon as the first frames start to roll over the screen, Tony's jaw drops in sheer terror as he realizes what he's looking at.

 

“No _fucking_ way!” he exclaims, in sudden distress.

 

"Language," Steve mutters, or better cackles, probably with the sole intent of driving him up the wall.

 

Tony's attempt at reaching for the remote on the coffee table is abruptly stopped by Rhodey pinning him down on the couch from behind; he can hear Pepper smothering a giggle in the background. “Traitors! You know what _that_ is!”

 

“Yeah, and I won't _ever_ get tired of watching it,” Rhodey replies, still firmly holding him back as the other start to display clear signs of amusement.

 

Tony ceases his resistance and looks at the screen in surrender: Malibu, 2009. His goddamn birthday party. His past self stands in the living room, clad in his full suit as he deejays with an idiotic grin plastered on his face. The sound is so bad the music in the background is barely audible, though. So maybe he won't be forced to hear himself talk whatever nonsense he'd been babbling back then after the umpteenth drink...

His hopes are shattered as his voice indeed comes, loud and clear in all his magnificent, drunk drawl.

 

“For God's sake, that's enough,” he feebly protests, only to get completely ignored. He takes an irritated sip of his coffee and sulks even more, as he follows his past exploits with an unamused scowl. "And I had it under control," he adds, as he looks himself stumbling on his own feet and tipping over some bottles with a loud crash.

 

He feels Pepper looking daggers at the back of his head, at which he just retorts by suddenly turning and sticking his tongue out at her in a childish way, before turning his attention to the screen again. So, that's what detention felt like.

 

“ _You know, the question I get asked most often is...”_ the past Tony manages to say without suffocating on his own tongue.

 

“Here it comes...” the present Tony grunts, pretending not to exist as the others can barely hold himself together.

 

“ _Tony, how do you go to the bathroom in the suit?”_

 

There's a brief, terrifying pause and Tony braces himself.

 

“ _Just like that.”_

 

Peter laughs.

Tony turns to him so fast he almost spills the coffee on himself and stares at him dumbstruck. Half the room lets out a slight gasp, the other half holds their breath. He wishes he could say something and then he doesn't, because that would ruin it, and maybe destroy what might very well be a figment of his imagination. Maybe he really overdid it this time and the lack of sleep is taking a toll on him.

But that's unmistakably the first sound that's escaped Peter's mouth since the heartwrenching sobs on Titan and he feels he can't get enough of it.

The Tony in the video keeps laughing as well, with a drunk, ridiculous, high-pitched giggle that only makes Peter laugh harder in response, and even the present Tony feels the corner of his lips pulling upwards in a smirk, then a smile, then a grin, until he finds himself chuckling in both amusement and relief.

Peter's laugh eventually fades and he suddenly becomes aware of the attention he's brought on himself.

 

“Oh,” he simply mouths, with barely the whisper of a voice and tears in his eyes.

 

It's enough to elicit a loud, enthusiastic cheer from all of the Avengers, suddenly speaking over each other as they encourage Peter to say more or simply show their excitement in hearing him again. He just stares at them in joyful confusion.

Only Tony stays quiet, and this time it's his turn to be speechless as he tries to recover his way with words.

 

“Can you...?” he's unable to complete the sentence, but Peter nods all the same.

 

"I think so," he croaks, offering them all the final proof. His eyes seem to embrace the whole room before fixing on Tony. “I'm back?” he says, incredulously.

 

“You are,” Tony confirms, making an effort to conceal the fact that he's on the brink in bursting into tears - _again_ \- only because the others are watching.

 

Peter nods back, repeatedly, and as he does he's finally struck with what's just happened and seems about to faint.

 

“Oh my God,” he says, his voice now trembling with emotion. “I'm back. I'm back,” he repeats, unable to add anything as he braces himself in disbelief. Tony is about to stop giving a damn about the others and just hug the kid senseless when his next words freeze him on the spot. “Mr. Stark, I'm _sor-_ "

 

"Don't you _dare_ , Parker," Tony points his finger at him, half-serious, half-joking, and Peter falls silent again. "Don't you dare to say those words to me _ever_ again. They're banned for life, okay?"

 

He realizes he's been maybe a bit too harsh and he feels some insistent glare from his fellow Avengers. "Other than that, feel free to pester my ears with whatever nonsense you feel up to," he smirks, softening his tone. Peter's eyes glimmer and Tony knows he's just signed his own death warrant.

 

He ruffles his hair before standing up and pulling him on his feet.

 

“C'mon, let's give Aunt May a call.”

 

*

 

After the emotional call, Peter finds himself under the siege of his now fellow Avengers, as no one has had the opportunity to actually meet him yet. Tony lets the show go on for a few minutes before stepping in out of common sense – _jealousy_ , Pepper teases him – to let the kid breathe.

Against his own good, Tony suggests to search for more funny and ridiculous videos, which soon turns into a competition about who can find the most embarrassing video of Tony Stark's “golden years”. To his surprise, despite all his efforts to wipe his slate clean, the web is still filled with some stuff he's never fully lived down, including content he definitely doesn't want Peter nor Pepper – _especially_ Pepper – to ever see. He quickly eradicates the most compromising material with FRIDAY's help before Clint or Nat can put their espionage and hacking skills to use.

His reel of shame starts, but he actually doesn't mind anymore, as the sight of Peter guffawing so hard he snorts and sputters in his drink compensates for his dignity being trampled on. And after a few, shy efforts, Peter starts talking again, non-stop and without any rhyme or reason just like his usual self. The next thing Tony knows, he's listening to him babbling about this and that – actually, the whole room is all ears for Peter as they relish the sound of his voice. Tony cherishes it above all things: after almost a week of appalling silence, he could even bring himself to hear the kid recap every single _Star Wars_ film and book. Again.

Even so, he cringes when they discover more toe-curling footages of his thirty-eighth birthday, ruthlessly showing him drunk off his head as he hits a watermelon mid-air with his unibeam. He hears Peter bellow with laughter, barely able to keep himself together at that ludicrous sight. He chuckles as well, even though he'd rather blend in with the couch's fabric – which, given its burgundy hue, might be entirely possible at the moment.

He's about to get up and throw a speech in his own defense about what happened that night, when he's suddenly shoved aside by a weight collapsing onto him.

He lowers his gaze and freezes, gobsmacked: Peter conked out headfirst, going limp on his shoulder. There's a lull where every single pair of eyes gets fixed on him. He finds himself wishing he didn't need to breathe to prevent his chest from moving and wake up the kid.

 

Then Bruce whispers, so low they can barely make out his words: "Don't. Move."

 

He's about to quip back with a deadpan "no shit, Sherlock", when a feeble snore comes from the oblivious Peter and he has to suppress a cackle instead. He shuffles in his seat just a tad and lets the kid's head rest more comfortably on his shoulder. He wouldn't move now even at gunpoint.

Someone suggests putting on a movie and Tony doesn't protest as he starts feeling a bit drowsy himself. He yawns silently and doesn't struggle too hard to keep his eyelids open.

 

He feels like he can allow himself some sleep, now.

 

*

 

Tony drifts off somewhere along _Love Actually_ , head twisted back on the couch and mouth half-open, with a protective arm still around Peter's shoulders.

His teammates go on a photo frenzy and are so kind not to spread the pictures worldwide, effectively demolishing his cultivated image as Earth's Best Defender. But they do take pictures, loads of them, and send them to May – who replies in delight - and the missing Avengers - who now have enough mockery-fuel against Tony for the next three months.

One picture ends up being printed out and then hung in the common room, stuck to the wall with tape right in front of the two resting heroes.

 

*

 

Tony wakes up to a sore neck and the feeling he could throw away his numb left arm and Doctor Cho's best efforts to fix it. Peter is sitting awkwardly against him, with his body bent sideways and his head now resting in his lap. His eyelids flutter open when Tony slightly shifts in an attempt to stretch his numb legs, and then lets out a groan as he pulls himself up. He can barely move his back, feels his eyes goggle inside his skull and has pins and needles all over his body. Tony hears his own bones all crackling at once like an old man's as he stretches out.

But still, it feels the best rest of their lives.

Someone's spread a blanket over them out of good heart – probably Bruce or Pepper - and Tony manages to crawl out of that wooly cocoon and stand up a bit wobbly, trying to make sense of what feel like the past sixteen hours. The clock on the wall confirms his reckoning and he just huffs a content sigh, until something hung underneath catches his eye and he makes his way towards it.

It's a selfie, astoundingly taken by Steve, who's the last person on Earth Tony could imagine handling a smartphone – let alone taking selfies. Their comrades are surrounding them with big grins and smiles as they sleep, mockingly threatening to wake them up. Someone's written "To Our Beloved Sleeping Beauties" on the wall with a sharpie – that feels like a Clint move and he's definitely gonna have him pay the repaint.

 

"Looks like we won something," Peter, still half-asleep, peeks up from behind his shoulder and points at the picture, yawning so wide his jaw almost drops off.

 

"Well, that's one kind of trophy. So much for bringing half the universe back," Tony comments, with a critic smile.

 

"Looks like a nap-trophy to me," Peter snickers, doubtfully arching a brow.

 

"Even taking a nap might be worthy of a reward, sometimes," Tony casually observes, hands sunk in his pockets. He sniffs and turns on his heels, giving him a look that clearly conveys how unwilling he is to let the argument slip.

 

"Sleeping doesn't sound that big an achievement to deserve a trophy, especially when you and the others did all the work," he deflects and shrugs as he lazily stretches on his toes.

 

Tony lightly nudges him in the ribs, throwing him off balance, then grins like he always does, crinkling up his nose and slightly raising his eyebrows. But this time there's that marked, rare fondness in his gaze that truly lightens up his eyes.

Peter has rarely seen him so at peace and worry-free and can't help but be infected by his happiness. He feels the weight pinning his body to the ground lighten as warmth takes its place.

He's home, he's safe, and he will always be as long as May and Tony are around. And he's still Spider-Man. It does feel like some sort of victory after all.

 

"C'mon, I think, therefore it _must_ be true, that we _both_ deserve our moment of glory here, don't we?" Tony questioningly tilts his head and looks at him expectantly.

 

Peter takes a moment to think. Only then it hits him that, indeed, they've saved the world, together. And that definitely earned them a good night's sleep.

He crosses his arms behind his head, and this time he openly beams at him.

 

"Yeah. Yeah, we do."

 

Thanks to my dear Matilde for this beautiful fan-art <3

 


End file.
